


Webs

by FantasyBoudicca



Series: The Hand We're Dealt [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Footbinding, LOTS of worldbuilding holy shit, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Romance, Worldbuilding, foot binding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16438988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyBoudicca/pseuds/FantasyBoudicca
Summary: When they met, she was thirteen, he was fourteen, and she'd shoved a job offer and half a loaf of bread at him within the first twenty seconds of meeting him.





	1. First meeting

“There you are.”

Asra blinked as the girl appeared in front of his table, a small, wrapped bundle in her hands. She perched gingerly on his table, careful not to disturb his cards, and set the bundle between them before pulling apart the wrappings. Hot, pumpkin-scented steam met Asra’s nostrils, and with a knowing grin at him the girl ripped it in half, offering him the larger half, still wrapped, while she took a nibble from the other. He recognised the gesture; showing him that the food was untainted.

At fourteen, Asra knew better than to trust random strangers shoving food at him after saying all of three words beforehand, even during a Masquerade when people were drunk and their purse strings were loose. But gods, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and no amount of water he drank could completely settle his hunger. He accepted the bundle and ate hungrily.

“My aunt Nimue owns this shop. I've seen you hanging around outside, and you’re good. I thought you looked hungry,” the girl said without preamble, jerking her head to the shop at Asra’s back. She looked about his age, clearly from Milova, fair-skinned with dark hair and eyes, in the wrapped robes worn by everyone from the wealthy spice merchants to the labourers unloading goods from their ships. Hers, however, were heavily stitched with strange symbols in a mix of styles, shimmering with magic.

Given that she was apparently the magic shop owner’s niece, it made sense.

It took a moment for Asra to remember where he was, caught off-guard by apparently meeting his neighbour and getting food shoved at him in the span of – oh, ten seconds in the middle of the Masquerade? He hastily gathered up his tarot deck, one-handed with the pumpkin bread still held in his other hand. “Would you like a reading?”

She shook her head, waist-length braid swinging. “No. Actually, I wanted to ask if you wanted to work for my aunt. She needs another pair of hands – so it may as well be the fortune-teller boy just outside our shop, right? If they’re poaching your business and look like they need a good meal anyway, recruit ‘em. You want in?”

Asra nodded numbly, still in shock. He had seen the shopkeeper, a wrinkled old Milovan woman with hair as white as his pulled back in a bun. In the distance, he heard the sound of people approaching – probably a bunch of sailors on shore leave for the Masquerade or some merchant passing through with their entourage.

The girl grinned at him. “Pay is room and board and a shiv a month, or twenty thins if you’d rather get it in small coins. You start tomorrow afternoon.”

 _What – how?_ Room and board and a silver coin each month might have been a fairly typical apprentice’s pay, but it was still far more than he had right now. Asra had spent too much time on the streets to pass this up. Especially not from what by all accounts was a decent enough shop. “M’name’s Asra,” he finally managed, swallowing the last of the bread and setting the handkerchief on the table between them.

“Lorelei. Nice to meet you.” Lorelei finally stood and gathered up the handkerchief, clearly intending to head back to the shop. The sound of the approaching group, and thus potential business, was pretty close, after all-

“MAKE WAY FOR THE PRINCESS OF PRAKRA.”

 _Oh shit._ Impulsively, Asra reached out to grab Lorelei, pulling her out of the way and behind his table. She crashed into him instead, and both Asra and Lorelei ended up in a heap on the ground as the Princess’ carriage passed by. They caught a bare glimpse of the young woman inside, draped in jewels and sitting arrow-straight, more like a prisoner going to her execution than a princess come to marry the Count, if word on the street was to be believed.

As soon as they passed, Asra scrambled to his feet.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Asra said quickly, reaching to help Lorelei up, “I didn’t mean to-”

 _Great job, Asra, you lost your job even before you started._ There was no way accidentally knocking over his boss’s niece within two minutes of meeting her would go over well. _Room and board and a shiv a month. Muriel’s never gonna let me hear the end of this._

It was only when he heard her giggling that Asra was pulled out of his own thoughts. Lorelei was laughing, leaning against his table as she dusted off her clothes. “Your _face_ , I’m sorry, it was priceless.”

Slowly, Asra smiled. Maybe he hadn’t lost his job after all. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Come after lunch.” With that, Lorelei left, disappearing around the corner to go back into the main building.


	2. First Meeting, pt 2

“Are you serious?” Muriel demands, when Asra meets him at the beach and tells him about his – frankly bizarre – day. “You don’t know anything about them.”

“They have a good reputation around town,” Asra insisted stubbornly. “And they’re an old Milovan woman and a girl my age. What can they do?”

Muriel’s hand went to his forehead, slowly dragging down his face. There was a new cut on his forearm; the Coliseum had put on a show for the Masquerade apparently. They fed Muriel a couple good meals a day, at least, and Muriel could sometimes smuggle back some food for Asra, but still...

Asra sighed. “It’s a good opportunity. I’d be an idiot not to take it up.”

Muriel was silent, though his mulish expression clearly stated what he thought of the whole affair. “I’ll hang around. Out of sight.”

“But the Coliseum-”

“Can live without me for a couple days, until I’m sure they’re not going to sell you to slavers.” Asra’s jaw clicked shut on his next words. Had he even considered that? It was impossible not to consider it on at least some level, living the life he did, but had he been so blinded by the prospect of food and a bed that he’d ignored it?

Seeing the look on Asra’s face, Muriel gave a decisive nod. “Let’s go sleep.”

-

Bed and board, as it turned out, meant a hammock in a back corner of the shop and joining Lorelei and Aunt Nimue (as she insisted on being called) for meals.

But first came a change of clothes. Asra had done his best to clean up beforehand; he’d stripped to his waist at the public fountain to try to get off as much grime as possible and he and Muriel had washed his clothes as best as they could, only stopping when they feared putting even more holes in it. Aunt Nimue, though, had taken one look at him and snapped at Lorelei to go see if they still had Aunt Nimue’s old work clothes, and to get him changed into those.

Aunt Nimue hadn’t so much as risen from her chair and already Asra was intimidated by her. It might have been her hawk-like gaze, out of a face as old as magic itself. It might have been the knobbly, twisted cane leaning against the cabinet behind her. Or the power emanating from her, intent and willpower woven together like a physical shield.

Whatever it was, it was with great relief that he followed Lorelei slowly to the back of the shop and up the stairs to the living quarters of the shophouse. Something was off about how she walked, he noticed, slightly tottering, taking tiny steps he had to consciously slow down for.

“Mind that she doesn’t fall on the stairs!” Aunt Nimue called from the front of the shop. Asra’s head whipped to Lorelei in alarm, his eyes huge.

“Yesterday? Not your fault,” Lorelei explained quietly, her grip white-knuckled on the bannister. “I have _really_ bad balance.”

She swayed frighteningly as they climbed. Asra quickly offered her his hand, feeling her weight shift as she led him up the stairs.

“Thanks. Come on, the room is just this way.” She nodded towards the only room.

Upstairs, the living quarters were just a living room facing the street, a bathroom, and a bedroom in the back, against the wall where Asra had told his fortunes. A worn old couch and a pair of spinning wheels with chairs, one set noticeably newer than the other, sat around a coffee table stained by years of hot cups and various potions, a sewing basket and its contents spread across it. Against another wall was a loom, a hammock dangling in a corner from the ceiling. Two tiny pairs of clogs were arranged next to the stairwell. _Does Aunt Nimue have grandkids?_

The room must’ve been Aunt Nimue’s, he guessed, as he followed Lorelei into the room. A big bed dominated the space. Lorelei rifled around one of the older chests, finally emerging triumphantly with another one of the wrapped robes and a pair of drawstring trousers – plain black cotton, a little worn but serviceable. She tossed it to him. “It’s identical to what men wear, don’t worry. Bathroom’s just there.”

Honestly, he’d never cared much either way, but he appreciated the consideration. “Thank you.”

“Come downstairs when you’re done. Aunt Nimue wants you to help with some of the potions.” With that, she disappeared, making her careful way out of the room and down from the living quarters.

He came downstairs a little while later, only to find Aunt Nimue calling him to the back of the shop. Lorelei was nowhere in sight.

Aunt Nimue stood over what he suspected was the only stove, an enormous pot steaming on top of it. A table stood next to it, filled with several large, empty, copper bottles. She turned when he entered, sharp eyes taking in the sight of her old work clothes. “It fits you. Good. They’re yours now. Fill these bottles. It’s a fever reducer.”

“Yes Aunt Nimue.” She didn’t move from where she stood, leaning on her cane, a slight smirk spreading across her lips as he began to look around for a ladle or something. “Well? Aren’t you going to start?”

“I don’t – can I get a ladle?” Asra asked. Did she forget to give him one?

Her smirk widened. “Unfortunately, Lorelei has gone out to lend it to our neighbour, the innkeepers. I’m sure a talented young man like you can work out how to fill the bottles, if you want it hard enough. Five-year-old witch girls in Milova can do this.”

 _Magic_. _She wants me to use magic_. Asra stared between the steaming pot and the bottles, suddenly feeling very out of his depth. He’d never used his magic for anything particularly precise – flipping cloaks around, forcing all the water out of clothes at once, throwing things around. This required a controlled, steady stream.

“How do you normally make things happen?” Aunt Nimue asked patiently, clearly attempting to coach him. Asra had to pause to think about it. “I just think about doing it, how much I want it, and it happens.”

“There you go. Want it.” She looked at him expectantly. “I don’t have all day, boy.”

Asra took a deep breath and tried to focus, thinking about how much he wanted this job and how much he wanted to get the fever reducer into the bottles. His magic surged around them, preparing to do exactly-

“Calm yourself!” Aunt Nimue’s own power rose up, smothering, wrapping around Asra’s, controlling it, as Asra panicked and tried to rein it in, _not so much slowly slowly control it…_

The contents of the pot rose in a giant glob and dumped itself into the bottles, splashing noisily inside – and outside onto Asra.

Aunt Nimue hobbled closer, peering into the bottles. She gave a sharp nod. The fever reducer hadn’t even touched her. “Good enough. Cork these, clean up the mess and bring these outside.”

With that, she walked back to the counter at the front of the shop, leaving him staring after her.

_Well, at least I’m learning._


	3. First Meetings, pt 3

By the time Lorelei got back as the sun went down, Asra had, under Aunt Nimue’s critical gaze, cleaned the remains of the fever reducer from the wall, floor and table, carried and arranged the scorching-hot bottles of fever reducer on the shelves at the front of the shop via magic, then been sent back to wash the pot and chop up potion ingredients for later use while Aunt Nimue worked the dents out of the bottles from his clumsy attempts to learn precision. A few customers came and went, most seeking hangover cures or the odd fever reducer.

“ _Yih ma! ngo woi lai liu_!” Lorelei’s voice called from the front of the shop, just as he finished cleaning up the back counter. “Reathe _taitai_ says ‘enjoy’.”

“Good. Did you extinguish the lamp and lock the door?” Asra suppressed the twinge of unease he felt at that. Aunt Nimue spoke again. “Put the food on the counter. Asra, get the spoons.”

Asra obediently wiped his hands on a damp rag and crouched down to get the cutlery out of the cupboard below the back counter, hearing the _thunk_ of Lorelei setting down her containers on the counter and the sing-song cadence of the Milovan language as Aunt Nimue and Lorelei spoke.

Dinner was bread and stew from the inn, eaten at the main counter of the shop for lack of an actual dinner table in the building.

“- nearly ran out of willow bark for the tea, I think everyone must’ve wanted a cup,” Lorelei said, tapping an empty pouch. “I was brewing almost constantly until Reathe _taitai_ sent me back with the food.”

 _Probably the Milovan version of Mrs Reathe_ , Asra guessed, finishing the last of his stew. It was the best he’d eaten in a while, and he felt comfortably full for the first time in months as he watched Aunt Nimue and Lorelei talk.

“After the Masquerade, what were you expecting?” Aunt Nimue snorted. “Lorelei, start on the dishes, Asra, bring the basin from under the stove upstairs, then come back down and help Lorelei.”

He didn’t miss the grateful look Lorelei gave Aunt Nimue as she slowly made her way up the stairs, the rhythmic thud of her cane on the steps echoing through the empty shop as he crouched down to get the basin from under the stove. It smelled of lavender, the tiny purple buds floating alongside large yellow flowers in the warm water.

When he got upstairs, Aunt Nimue was sitting on her bed in the only bedroom, bending down to remove her shoes. Asra nearly dropped the basin when he saw her feet. “What the fuck?!”

No longer hidden by the long, loose hem of her trousers, Aunt Nimue’s feet were unnaturally tiny, almost bulbous in white wrappings and minuscule, bowl-shaped black shoes that would not have looked out of place on a toddler. _Well, that explains the cane and the clogs on the stairs._

“Stop gaping and put it on the floor.” Asra scrambled to do so, setting the basin on the floor next to Aunt Nimue’s feet. Aunt Nimue fixed him with a hard stare. “I can still take you over my knee, if you get any funny ideas.”

“None at all, Aunt Nimue,” Asra agreed easily. He wasn’t that stupid, damn it.

Aunt Nimue nodded, then jerked her chin towards the door. “Help Lorelei with the dishes if she’s not done yet. After that, you’re off for the night.”

He made his way downstairs, finding Lorelei at the basin at the back counter next to the stairs, wrist-deep in soapy water. Dark eyes turned to him as he walked down the stairs. “Help me dry the dishes?”

Asra picked up the wet dishes Lorelei handed to him to force the water from them before putting them away under the counter, as Lorelei directed soapy water to scrub the thick stew from the inside of the tureen.

“I heard what you said. I’m guessing you saw Aunt Nimue’s feet?” The surprise on his face was answer enough. Lorelei sighed, looking faintly frustrated. “Milovan custom for girls with magical ability. Same thing happened to me when I was four.”

“What do yo- oh.” Balancing with one hand on the edge of the basin, Lorelei had lifted one foot and pulled up the hem of her trousers. Her own bound feet stuck out from under the dark hem, unnaturally tiny in embroidered shoes he might have mistaken for a toddler’s.

She dropped it a second later, straightening up to rinse the tureen off and hand it to Asra. He accepted it wordlessly, stunned silent.

“It’s not a big deal, it just means my balance is awful,” Lorelei said defensively, after a moment. “You should see what Aunt Nimue did when some thieves broke in – I think one of the clogs _still_ has a dent where she sent it flying at them.”

Asra snorted at the thought, though he made a mental note to take a look the next time he had a chance. “She’s something.”

“You have no idea. And that’s the last of the dishes.” Lorelei flicked the water off her hands. She glanced between the basin and the back door, her eyes huge and her expression comically pleading as she looked up at Asra. He laughed, realising what she wanted. “I’ll handle it.”

Her expression broke into a grin, and she reached into her pocket to hand him a key. “Thanks. Just dump it on the plants beside the shop and lock the door afterwards. Night, Asra.”

She turned to go up the stairs as Asra hefted the basin onto his hip to carry it outside, through the back door – side door, technically, but it didn’t matter. To his utter lack of surprise, he found Muriel waiting against the side wall of the shop, next to what looked like an animal feed trough repurposed to grow herbs. “How was the Coliseum?”

Muriel grunted in answer. Asra turned to dump the grey water on the plants.

“Are you alright?” There was concern in Muriel’s gravelly voice, and Asra smiled reassuringly up at him. “I’m fine. Aunt Nimue – the shopkeep – just had me chopping ingredients all day. Lorelei got us dinner from the innkeeper, and I’m off for the night. I’ve got a hammock in the back of the shop.”

Muriel nodded, his expression troubled as it always was. “What’s with the clothes?”

“Aunt Nimue said I couldn’t be seen working for her in what I was wearing, so she gave me some of her old work clothes.” Sensing what Muriel was getting at, Asra quickly added, “I don’t think she wants anything for it. It’s just work clothes so she doesn’t get embarrassed if someone sees me out on the street.”

“Still.” The one word held a world of meaning, and Asra sighed. “Aunt Nimue needs a _cane_ to get around, for fuck’s sake. Lorelei’s halfway to falling over every time she goes up and down the stairs. They’re not going to do anything.”

Muriel’s eyebrows went up. “Is that why you were hired? They need someone able-bodied around?”

“Possibly. Though Lorelei seemed fine when she went to the inn to help out.” Asra shrugged. “Probably they just don’t like doing heavy lifting and thought they’d hire the kid hanging around outside to do it instead. Why do you think I got sent out with the basin?”

Even as he said it, though, it felt wrong. Aunt Nimue was clearly still powerful, despite her physical frailty. The casual way she’d forced the dents out of the copper bottles with barely more than a gesture showed that she hardly needed help. So why bother with the expense of an extra mouth and a silver coin a month for help she didn’t really need?

Muriel shook his head. “Be careful, Asra. No food you don’t see them eat as well-”

“- and nothing you’ve left unattended with them around, I know.” He’d heard enough horror stories of kids who’d accepted food or drink from strangers, only to turn up the next morning bloodied and traumatised or disappear entirely. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Want to come in for the night? I’ve got the key to the back door, I can let you in.”

Muriel hesitated, then shook his head. “I’d rather not sleep under a roof that’s not mine.”

The same twinge of unease. Asra shrugged noncommittally. “Suit yourself.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was more a warning than a request, the underlying _I’ll be checking if you’re alright_ left unspoken. Asra nodded, gratitude welling up in him for Muriel’s concern. “Stay safe.”

That got an exasperated look out of Muriel. “You too.”

Without another word, Muriel walked away to disappear into the gloom, leaving Asra to go back into the shop, lock the door, and do his best to sleep under a near-stranger’s roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Ao3 hates British English and American English has a love affair with the letter z.
> 
> Honestly, at the rate I'm going, I may as well just give up on the 'series of one-shots' idea.


	4. Settling In

Asra woke to the thud of Aunt Nimue coming down the stairs, and he sat upright so quickly in his hammock that it sent him swinging into the cabinet next to him with a yelp. Aunt Nimue laughed at the sight from her position on the stairs. It was still dark outside, that timeless dark between sunset and dawn. “Go back to sleep, boy, it’s too early for you young ones to be up.”

He forced himself to doze as Aunt Nimue moved around the shop, boiling water and opening cupboards.

A couple of hours later Aunt Nimue’s cane thwacked loudly against the wood stairs a few times. “Wake up!” she shouted up the stairs, startling Asra out of his doze. There was a muffled curse from upstairs and a heavy thud, followed by more cursing. “ _yih ma!_ ” Lorelei complained.

Asra smiled as he got out of his hammock, sliding it across the ceiling beam and out of the way for the day. “Morning Aunt Nimue.”

“It’s almost dawn!” Aunt Nimue called up the stairs. She frowned. More softly, she said to him, “Asra, go upstairs and check on Lo-”

“It’s not!” Her face cleared in an instant, and Asra watched as a slight smile spread across her aged face – before she called, “Any more lip and I’ll cook it for you!”

No response. Asra grinned.

Lorelei came down a few minutes later, hair braided back and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Morning _yih ma_ , morning Asra,” she mumbled, before it broke off into a jaw-cracking yawn. “Gimme that key, would you?”

It took Asra a second to realise what she meant, fumbling to get the key out of his pocket before handing it to Lorelei. Aunt Nimue didn’t even look surprised, three mugs and a plate with a few slices of bread on it in front of her, herself chewing on some bread. “Eat.”

Lorelei peeled herself off the stairs to join Asra and Aunt Nimue at the counter. As they chewed on slightly stale bread, Aunt Nimue gave her orders for the day.

“You two are going to the markets today. Lorelei, you show Asra who to go to, and get us some mussels, wheat berries, and the-” Aunt Nimue proceeded to rattle off a series of ingredients, making both Asra and Lorelei blink, still dazed from the early hour.

“… say that again?” Lorelei asked. Aunt Nimue frowned. “I’m old, I’ve forgotten it now. Go check what we don’t have – and show Asra as well.”

_That’s one way to teach inventory_ , Asra thought, as he and Lorelei went through the many, many cabinets to see what was missing. _How does Aunt Nimue remember all of this?_

The two of them were booted out the door shortly after with the shopping bag, a basket, and a purse full of silver and tin coins.

“When did you come to Vesuvia?” Asra asked, as they walked. Lorelei was a comfortable presence at his side, looking around their surroundings as they walked to the market.

“Two months ago,” Lorelei answered breezily. Asra blinked. “That recent? But you speak-”

“My mother made my father hire a tutor to teach me languages, and then I spent a month on a ship with Vesuvian sailors.” That told Asra two things: Lorelei had come from a rich family, and Nimue had basically taken on two apprentices at the same time. _What’s going on?_

By the time they came back, the lantern signalling that they were open was already lit. Asra’s blood ran cold as he heard the rumble of Muriel’s voice inside, clearly frustrated as he asked where Asra was.

“I don’t know any Asra. It’s just me and my niece here. That hammock there is for me to sit on,” Aunt Nimue insisted. Lorelei turned to him, worry written across her face. “Friend of yours?”

He nodded, striding into the shop an instant later. “Aunt Nimue! Muriel! We’re back!”

Asra swore he felt his heart stop beating for a few seconds when he spotted Aunt Nimue glaring up at Muriel, her expression distinctly obstinate as she stared down a man twice her size and about four times her weight.

“Asra.” Muriel’s relief was clear as he spotted Asra, perfectly fine, carrying a bag of potion ingredients with the witch’s niece at his side holding a covered basket. Aunt Nimue turned just enough to see him, not taking her gaze off Muriel for an instant as she clutched her cane like a weapon. “Friend of yours, Asra?”

“Yeah,” Asra confirmed, and Aunt Nimue nodded, visibly relaxing. “You should have said so. I wouldn’t have given him so much trouble if I knew.”

Asra, Lorelei and Muriel all stared at Aunt Nimue in surprise. Aunt Nimue rolled her eyes.

“You youngsters have no sense,” she complained. “What do you think would have happened if Muriel here wasn’t your friend, and I told you not only where you were, but where you slept and worked? You think I want to find myself _another_ apprentice?”

Silence. Muriel bowed his head to Aunt Nimue for a second. “Thank you. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Aunt Nimue grunted. “Let me take a look at that arm. Lorelei, Asra, go bathe, then come back down here and get to work. I can smell the fish on you from here.”

-

They settled into a sort of rhythm within a few days. Aunt Nimue would get up a few hours before dawn and come down after a while to boil what Asra learned was the mix she and Lorelei washed their feet in (which Asra never got over, because _what the fuck_ ). An hour before dawn, Asra and Lorelei would be woken out of their doze or sleep by the sound of Aunt Nimue’s cane on the stairs. Then they would eat and be sent out for any potion ingredients and the food for the day, before returning to the shop and getting to work.

“What’s that?”

Asra and Lorelei had been sent upstairs for the morning to do laundry ‘and teach him to sew, those work clothes are older than you are’. The day Aunt Nimue went up the stairs more than once a day would be the day someone worked out how to reverse ageing.

Crash course on using water magic for laundry done and with evaporating water prickling his skin, Asra was working his way through fixing one of his new shirts, all hand-me-downs from Aunt Nimue. Seeing how his old shirt had looked in comparison to the slightly worn, though still presentable black cotton under his fingers, he could see where she was coming from. A pile of mended shirts, his own shirt somewhere in there, sat beside him on the couch, while Lorelei occupied one of the spinning wheels. She was slowly feeding flax into it from a pile in her lap as the wheel turned, whip-quick, to gradually fill the large bobbin in the centre.   
Only, her fingertips glowed, the faint, pale blue haze of her magic surrounding her fingertips and clinging to the thread as it was twisted, fading back into dull white as it was wound onto the spool.

“Enchanted thread,” Lorelei said distractedly, her voice strangely intense. “Mr Anbro, the cobbler, promised a new pair of shoes in exchange for a full bobbin of this. He really likes it for his shoes apparently.”

_Enchanted thread_. He’d never heard of it before. But then, he hadn’t heard of using water magic to do laundry either. The faint shimmer of her clothes that day behind the shop came to mind. _What if it wasn’t so much the symbols, but the thread itself?_

Asra looked down at his shoes, made using cast off pieces of wood and held together by string and a desperate desire not to step in horse shit with bare feet again, then at the finely-made embroidered ones Lorelei wore. She glanced up at him and let out an amused huff. “They’re for you, numbskull. Aunt Nimue says your shoes are no worse than what Reathe tai tai and most of the other girls had when they moved here, but they really should be mercy-killed.”

Instantly Asra felt his face warm. He awkwardly waved off her offer, hyperaware of the sharp needle in his hand. _She’s_ my age _and she’s getting me a pair of shoes. How the mighty fall_. “It’s fine! It’s fine! I don’t need a new pair. Get them for yourself.”

“Mercy-kill those – I can’t even call those shoes, Asra,” Lorelei insisted, her gaze fixed on her spinning. The thread glowed the faint blue of her magic as it passed through her fingers. “Anyway, it isn’t any trouble. It’s just enchanted thread; six-year-old witches with any amount of willpower can make this.”

_Six-year-olds_ – “Can you teach me?”

Lorelei’s eyebrows went up. “Sure. But it’s basically just pushing your intent into the fibres right before it twists, so the fibre traps it in there. Now I really want this to be strong and waterproof. Like I said, a six-year-old could do it.”

Asra tamped down his irritation. _We weren’t all tutored for years in anything we wanted._ “Then let’s hope I’m as good as a six-year-old.”

She gave a sharp nod, her lips thinning in embarrassment at the jab. “Finish your sewing, I’ll probably have this done by then and we can start on a new bobbin.”

-

Spinning enchanted thread was not, in fact, easy enough that a six-year-old could do it.

At least that’s what Asra thought, as Lorelei screeched ‘Not so thin!’ and put her hand on the wheel to stop it. The lumpy, already-fraying thread on the bobbin stood out like warts on a person’s face, while on the couch, Lorelei’s full spool of perfect, even thread stared back at him, mocking. Asra glared at it.

Lorelei sighed. “Honestly, I was just as bad when I was five and not even trying to enchant yet, so I can’t complain. You should’ve seen one of my sisters’.”

That perked him up only marginally. “How long does it usually take to get decent at this?”

“About a year? I was never really involved with teaching my sisters, but I think they learned fast,” she guessed, clearly unsure. “That’s why we usually only introduce magic after they’ve gotten the spinning part done. At least you got the cooling charm right?” Lorelei offered as consolation.

Asra groaned. “Thanks. Can the thread be used for anything?”

_Please let it not be wasted_. He hated to think he would be wasting perfectly good flax that could have been used for something else.

A brief pause. She chewed her lip. “Tying small packages for the shop? The cooling charm might be useful for any meat.”

_Better than wasting it_. “Want me to get your thread to Mr Anbro? Aunt Nimue wants to get lunch from the teahouse anyway, it’ll be on the way.”

Lorelei nodded. “Yeah, just tell Aunt Nimue you’re heading out. I’ll be up here with a bag of cotton.”

The last part came out as a groan, as she glanced over at a sack leaning innocently against a wall. Asra grimaced in sympathy. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Lorelei trudged off to get the bag, Asra grabbing the thread before heading downstairs and out the door.


	5. A Glimpse

“Your pay.”

Asra stared at the silver coin in his hand; the most money he had owned in his life. What would he buy first? His new shoes fit well enough and would hopefully last him a while, and he couldn’t really imagine needing more than the few sets of clothes Aunt Nimue gave him – it wasn’t like he was going to meet anyone worth impressing.

In the back, he could hear the rise and fall of Aunt Nimue’s voice, chanting a spell in the Milovan tongue. A few words stood out – woman, bloodless, open, and a few other -less words he recognised but didn’t understand yet.

Lorelei’s face was pensive as she sat back down at the counter beside him, magic practice on an unlit candle forgotten for the moment after giving him his apprentice’s pay. “I’m not sure what you can buy with that. A jacket, maybe?”

“I don’t need eight jackets and three shawls in different colours,” he teased, though he did file it away for consideration. It hadn’t even occurred to him – winter was survivable, if uncomfortable, but a jacket would definitely be useful. He could even buy one for Muriel next month, he thought, dizzy with the sudden realization that for once, he could actually plan a while in advance.

Lorelei’s huff brought him back to reality. “Four of them are for _winter_. And my mother made me bring two of them and one of the shawls. She was afraid I’d get sick; as if the back doesn’t practically become an oven after half an hour of brewing.”

The doorbell rang as one of the apprentice shipwrights walked in, and instantly Lorelei got to her feet, smoothing down her hair and tugging her wrapped blouse straight. Knowing she had it well in hand, Asra just tucked his pay in his pocket, next to his tarot deck, and busied himself with the work Aunt Nimue had left him – trying to turn the bowl of sand into water and back.

Ilonka was a handful of years older than them, tall and strong from years helping build ships, freckles splashed across her cheeks and brown hair piled high and out of the way. She gave them a friendly smile in greeting as she pulled a ceramic jar out of her bag. “I’m here for more of that sunburn potion.”

“The new apprentices refuse to wear their hats?” Lorelei asked, smiling back as she took the jar and opened it.

“Exactly. Idiots, all of them.” Ilonka’s own hat, the same hat worn by most of the shipwrights, dangled by its straps from her bag.

Lorelei crouched to fill the jar from one of the large earthenware pots under the counter, before straightening and setting it back on the counter. A quick gesture and there was a simple heart stamped in the cream.

Ilonka grinned at Lorelei, counting out coins from her purse. “Cute. Six thins as usual, right?”

“Three. Special price.” _What the fuck?_ Asra gave Lorelei a questioning look, which she completely ignored, apparently unable to peel her eyes away from Ilonka even for long enough to close the jar properly. “You’re a repeat customer; Aunt Nimue won’t mind.”

Asra didn’t need his finely-developed sense for bullshit to tell him no, Aunt Nimue likely _would_ mind the discount Lorelei was giving.

To her eternal credit, Ilonka barely even blinked. “But best not take that chance, eh? Six; my master is paying anyway.”

“Four.”

“What kind of shopkeep are you? Aren’t you supposed to be negotiating for a higher price?” Ilonka joked, shoving the coins insistently across the counter. “Six, or I’ll leave the remainder on the counter.”

Lorelei pouted, depositing the offered money in the drawer beneath the counter. “Fine.”

“Bye Lorelei, Asra.” With that, Ilonka left, the bell ringing again as the door shut behind her.

Asra raised an eyebrow at Lorelei. She grimaced. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face as he realised just what had happened. “What will it take to get me a discount?”

“Death,” Lorelei answered, utterly deadpan. Asra snorted and pulled his deck out of his pocket, locating the Death Arcana instantly before putting it on the table between them. “Will that do it?”

“You’re awful.”

“Are you two going to earn money by talking?!” Aunt Nimue called from the back.

“No,” Lorelei called back, Asra joining in after a second’s hesitation.

Satisfied that her point had been made, Aunt Nimue got back to her work, leaving them to theirs.

“Get wool. It’s expensive, but it’s worth it,” Lorelei said lowly, gaze fixed on the candle. She pinched her fingers over the wick, a flame appearing as she released it. “And your jacket will be warmer and looks nicer if it’s closely fitted.”

“But I’ll outgrow it more quickly,” he pointed out. She shrugged. “Then get a new one.”

She said it so simply, as if the cost didn’t matter and he would always be able to get a new one, or that there wasn’t other, important things he could buy with the money.

Lorelei continued, clearly thinking. “You can always pass it on to someone else. I have – five younger siblings, and two younger cousins.”

Asra shook his head. “I’ll just have it made bigger. Muriel could use one too, and I have a feeling his will cost more.”

“He doesn’t have one?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “What did you do in winter?”

Asra gave her a confused look. What did she mean, what did they do in winter? “Get cold?” he guessed.

“Wh – oh,” Lorelei’s face crumpled, and she seemed to realise – and regret – something, “I’m sorry. Stupid question. Remind me to do a spool of heating thread, it’s been a while since I did one anyway.”

 _She’s used to having everything,_ Asra realised abruptly, with a little twist of envy and discomfort. All the jackets and shawls, the casual mention of a tutor to teach her languages, the embroidered cloth shoes that wouldn’t last a single step in mud...

The silence grew awkward, and both of them turned back to their work.

It lasted until Aunt Nimue came out from the back, sitting down heavily. “Show me what you have done.”

Obedient to her will by now, Lorelei extinguished the candle with a quick clench of her fist beside the flame, then lit it again with the same pinch trick she had been practicing. Aunt Nimue nodded in approval. “Good. Asra.”

It took a moment’s focus, but Asra managed to turn the sand to water, and then back to sand. Only – he pulled his hand out of the bowl with a vaguely obscene sucking sound, clumps of cool, wet sand clinging to his hand and dripping off his fingers. He heard Lorelei giggle beside him.

“Not a word out of you, Lorelei. You have been taught to use your magic since your feet were bound,” Aunt Nimue scolded, not even looking at Lorelei. “Asra only started a month ago, and look where he is now.”

Lorelei extinguished the candle with a mulish look and a clenching fist.

He didn’t have the heart to admit that he’d actually had a bit more practice than Aunt Nimue believed, willing the wet sand off his hand and into the bowl with a wet _splat_.

Aunt Nimue tapped the table, pulling the two apprentices’ attention back to her. “Asra, I’ve been meaning to ask. Can you do a reading for me and Lorelei?”

“Yes Aunt Nimue.” A slow unease began to build in him as he pulled out his deck, shuffling it briefly before handing it to Aunt Nimue. _Something’s going to happen_. The cards seemed to whisper anxiously among themselves, an expectant hum as they slid between Aunt Nimue’s worn fingers.

Aunt Nimue took a moment before choosing, a single card seeming to call louder than the others as she turned it over.

She stared at the card, gaze tracing the line of the rat’s spine, the ten golden pentacles, the colourful background. “What does it mean?”

“The Ten of Pentacles,” he said, surprised. Part of him had always associated Aunt Nimue with the Queen of Swords – but the Ten of Pentacles was speaking now, revealing its secrets and _why_. Just little snatches of information, a feeling, a phrase here and there that he repeated to Aunt Nimue. “All will be well. The roots you have planted will grow strong, and you will leave a legacy that will change the course of history.”

Aunt Nimue’s head jerked up to stare at him, scanning his face for any trace of a lie. “Are you certain?”

Asra shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under her scrutiny. “I only repeat what the cards say. They haven’t failed me yet.”

She seemed to consider this, before giving a decisive nod. “Lorelei next. Then I want to see you read for yourself.”

Lorelei was a spring coil of tension as she shuffled the cards and drew one, turning it over as if it would bite her. “Nine of Pentacles.”

“You will lead a comfortable life,” the card and Asra said, _no surprise there_ , “in a nice home. There will be an improvement in your finances – you’ll always have that security.”

The expression on Lorelei’s face said it all. No one needed the cards to tell them that.

Aunt Nimue didn’t seem surprised either, nodding thoughtfully. “With your father, and your uncle, I expected that. Now you, Asra.”

He knew, even before he turned over the card, exactly which one had turned up. Sure enough, a smug snake, twisting around a single wooden wand stared at him from the surface of the card. “I will soon receive good news. I’ll be starting on a project soon, and it’ll go well for me.”

“Good news for all of us,” Lorelei noted drily, but Aunt Nimue seemed contemplative, scanning Asra. “Yes.”

 _That should be it_ , Asra decided. All good news. Nothing would happen.

 _Still_ , part of him whispered, _a single card could never tell you everything_. Something will always be left untold, the intricate webs of responses and change, lives touched and decisions made, and that was where the story lay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the beginnings of the plot.
> 
> Updates might take a bit. A LEVELS/UNIVERSITY ENTRANCE EXAMS AGH.
> 
> I personally favour the 'let the person you're reading for shuffle and choose the cards' route, but to be fair, The Arcana is a game, so gamer experience/greater interaction would always be good.


	6. Beginnings

Asra staggered more than walked to the shopping district, making a beeline for one of the aqueducts. Dirt and grease streaked his pants where he’d wiped his hands, sweat darkening the collar and armpits of his shirt and plastering his hair to his scalp. Too tired for the niceties of setting his bag down for a second, he knelt on the ledge, cupped his hands in the water and drank.

Muriel joined him a few seconds later, waiting patiently for Asra to finish drinking. A faintly shimmering wrap was knotted around his waist under an open vest. He reeked of lavender soap, but it at least got rid of the smell of blood and iron.

Asra finally came up for air after drinking what felt like half his body weight in water. “I got the walls fixed,” he said, after a pause.

Muriel nodded. “I’ll be off from the Coliseum tomorrow. We can fix the ceiling then.”

“I’ll see if I can trade with Lorelei. Tomorrow’s supposed to be her day off, she might not want to cover for me.”

Muriel spotted something over Asra’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s she doing here, if she’s supposed to be at the shop?”

“Buying flax for more of those healing wraps everyone likes so much,” an unfamiliar voice said. Both Asra and Muriel looked up to the face of Jael, one of the shopowners’ kids. Lorelei’s hand was tucked comfortably in the crook of their elbow, a bulging sack slung over their shoulder. She reached out to straighten the wrap around Muriel’s waist. “You should cover the area around the wound as well, for it to work well.”

Muriel flushed red, but mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping your parents at the shop?” Asra pointed out. Jael shrugged. “I’m escorting one of our customers back to hers’.”

Lorelei gave Jael a wry look. “Sure. And personally filling my bag with the higher quality flax and insisting on carrying it for me was part of it.”

“All the better to make sure it made it back safely,” they said smoothly, though their face turned a pink that had nothing to do with the late afternoon heat.

“Can you cover for me tomorrow? I need to help Muriel with the hut,” Asra asked. Jael shot him a grateful look even as Lorelei pulled a face. “Tomorrow’s my day off.”

“I’ll cover for you next week.” That gave her pause as she thought. Eventually she sighed. “Nevermind, I’ll be weaving anyway. Orders from home.”

She dug out a letter from her pocket, holding it up to show the golden wax seal, stamped with Milovan characters. A letter from the desk of the _doutui_ Artos, Lorelei’s father. The letter was crumpled carelessly as she shoved it back in her pocket.

Confusion and unease were old friends of Asra’s by now, after nearly a year with Aunt Nimue. The fact that she had taken him on for no clear reason other than him supposedly poaching her business – she didn’t even sell fortune-telling to begin with, what business was he poaching? – was a constant source of it on its own.

This time, it was the idea that Lorelei would be missing out on a day off because of him. “It’s alright, I can do it.”

“Your weaving is as bad as a ten-year-old’s,” Lorelei said bluntly, her aura chilling the air around her as she continued, “I can’t give that as-”

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, cutting off her next words. She closed her eyes for a long moment, visibly pulling herself together. “I’ll cover for you tomorrow, just go help Muriel with the hut.”

Asra, Muriel, and Jael shared a long look of utter bewilderment. Whatever was on Lorelei’s mind, neither her friends or ‘friend’ knew. Slowly, Asra nodded. “I will. Thanks, Lori.”

Lorelei waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll see you back at the shop.”

She turned back to Jael, pulling them back into whatever they had been talking about as they walked in the direction of the shop, leaving Asra and Muriel behind at the aqueduct.

After a long moment, Muriel asked, “Do you-”

“Not a clue,” Asra confirmed. “Come on, there’s still enough time to get more nails and planks.”

By the time he got back to the shop, Lorelei was hunched over a letter at the counter, frustration radiating off her as she wrote, while Aunt Nimue sat opposite her, sipping from a mug. Aunt Nimue looked up as he entered, a load of planks under one arm, a bag of nails and a hammer hanging off his other arm. “Good. You’re back. A customer left this as payment.”

Asra craned his neck to see what Aunt Nimue was holding up, bending to prop up the planks against the cabinet beside his hammock and dump his bag on the chest he’d bought some time earlier. The line of Lorelei’s shoulders grew tense, her head bowed further over her work.

It was a chick – a cormorant chick, to be exact, a skinny lump of black and white fluff that squawked and flapped angrily in protest at Aunt Nimue picking it up from wherever she had put it on the counter.

“Fisherman. His cormorant had a runt; thought one of my apprentices might like a familiar,” Aunt Nimue said over the indignant squawking, her intent gaze not leaving Asra.

An ink-stained hand reached out to stroke the chick’s head, and in an instant it quieted, nuzzling into Lorelei’s fingers. Aunt Nimue ignored it, holding the chick out to Asra insistently as he sat at the counter.

Asra’s unease went down to his bones this time, remembering his visions of a lavender snake with jewel-bright red eyes, the little sock toy he had made with his mom’s supervision just to try to get the image out of his head. Lorelei’s shoulders were a stiff line of tension, her yearning for the chick nearly palpable even with her face set into a blank mask. Why the hell was Aunt Nimue so insistent on giving it to Asra anyway, with how much Lorelei clearly wanted the chick? “It’s alright, Lorelei can have it.”

The tension melted from her shoulders and face instantly, even as Lorelei politely declined, her gaze fixed on the chick. “Are you sure? It’s alright, if you want her instead,” she protested half-heartedly, more out of manners beaten into her from early childhood than not actually wanting the chick.

“You don’t need to give it up for her, Asra.” Aunt Nimue’s words pulled a frown out of both of them, but she continued, “She’ll be go-”

“ _Don’t_.” Lorelei straightened, her jaw set. “He doesn’t need to know. We don’t even know if my _baba_ will.”

This just got a snort out of Aunt Nimue. “Stop dreaming. You’re a witch daughter of a _doutui_ and a _fusang_ , it’ll happen whether you like it or not.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Lorelei said vehemently. Seeing Asra’s confusion, she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“A lot of fuss for nothing,” he pointed out, getting a laugh out of her. It rang hollow and forced in the shop. “I don’t want the chick, Lorelei wants the chick, give it to her.”

“Thank you.” Even as she said it, she was reaching for the chick, scooping it out of Aunt Nimue’s hands and cuddling it close. It didn’t let out so much as a peep, settling down happily into Lorelei’s cupped hands. Lorelei’s smile was beatific, impossibly _sweet_ , lighting up her face as she stroked its tiny head. “I think you might be – Fung. You like that?”

The newly-named Fung seemed to fluff itself up under her touch. Lorelei turned to grin at Aunt Nimue and Asra. “Her name is Fung.”

“Consider her a birthday present.” Despite the terse, grudging tone, Aunt Nimue had softened slightly. “You’re feeding and cleaning up after her. And if she’s too noisy – into the cooking pot!”

“ _yihma_!”

Later that night found Lorelei on the floor in front of her hammock, a bowl of fish in her hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. Fung opened her mouth, and in a second it was filled with a piece of fish, Lorelei already picking up the next piece as Fung swallowed the fish whole. The dim lighting of her conjured lights painted Fung’s fluffy white throat and belly a pastel blue, and did nothing to hide Lorelei’s smile, fondly exasperated as she fed her new familiar. “How do you eat so much?!”

“Cormorant chicks eat like nothing else,” Asra commented, joining her on the floor. Water dripped from his hair and onto the floor and his clothes. Lorelei barely glanced his way long enough to summon a dry, warm wind with a flick of her wrist, before focusing back on Fung. “Thanks, for earlier.”

It came out almost as unwilling, though Lorelei had been quite obviously grateful earlier. Setting it aside as another mystery for the ages, Asra got to the main thing he’d wanted to ask about: “Did you notice that Aunt Nimue seems to-”

“Favour you?” Lorelei asked sardonically. “Yes. It’s very hard not to.”

Guilt flashed through him briefly, soon followed by discomfort. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing; just the way things are.” Despite her casual words, Lorelei pulled a face, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she turned to him. Fung, evidently full, finally curled up in her nest of fabric scraps to sleep, little head resting on the raised edge. It was far cuter than anything that small and ugly had a right to be, and Asra found himself smiling at her despite himself. “She’s adorable.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Lorelei accepted the subject change with grace.

Silence. “You know, I always had the strangest dream, over and over again, about a black and white cormorant. Milovan witches don’t usually have familiars, so it wasn’t until I came here that I found out about the practice, and what my dreams were. Our style of magic doesn’t need it.”

“I used to – still do,” Asra added, after a moment’s thought, “see a purple snake in mine, with red eyes. I thought it was my dad’s for a while, until I realised that his familiar, Flamel, has gold eyes, so it couldn’t be her.”

She nodded, her eyes downcast. “Your father was a magician too, then?”

 _Was_. After eight years, he’d learned to bite back the reflexive _they were taken, not dead_. He had to have hope; they still haunted his dreams, the smell of Mom’s favourite tea and the roughness of Dad’s hands still vivid after over half his life technically orphaned. He swallowed. “Yeah. Not a fancy provincial governor like yours.”

That made her smile. “My _baba_ only says he has no magic. But the way he somehow knows instantly whenever one of us children did something wrong, though, I’m convinced he has. He must have eyes in the back of his head, I swear.”

Asra laughed. “I think all parents are like that.”

They sat in comfortable silence, Lorelei eventually reaching out to grasp Asra’s hand, soft and warm against the water-chilled skin of his own. “Thank you. Again.”

She glanced down at Fung, sleeping peacefully. “We should get to sleep. Night, Asra.”

It was reflexive to pull her to her feet by now as he stood, but it still got a small smile out of her that made him feel oddly warm. “Night, Lori.”

When Asra fell asleep that night, it was to dreams of a lavender snake, and a cormorant with patches of blue on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fusang = third-tier student who passed the college entrance exams, but wasn't usually considered for enrollment. 
> 
> Here you see the beginnings of my attempts at colour motifs and the beginnings of Asra's romantic interest in Lorelei.
> 
> And yeah, I know that a lot of evidence points towards Chimes and Flamel being Faust's parents, but I wrote the first chapters before Chapter XVIII came out and I point-blank refuse to go back and rewrite five chapters to include Faust. That, and until it's officially in the game or explicitly stated by Nix Hydra (afaik, it isn't, though if it is please let me know), I'm erring on the side of 'very plausible fanon' rather than 'canon'.


	7. Developments

Peyote laughed as he and Asra stumbled through the door of the adobe, faces flushed with drink and dancing.

“Looks like the Great Magician Asra can’t hold his liquor,” Peyote teased, even as he swayed precariously while turning to check out the house. “So this is Old Man Whitsun’s house. I can’t believe someone finally bought it.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe the town sold it to me for so cheap!”

“You did make it rain in time for the Painted Daisy Festival.” Asra just dropped his bag on the floor, took a moment longer to carefully set the pouch around his neck on a coffee table, and yanked the protective sheet off the couch, flopping down carelessly onto it – only for his back to hit the wooden frame through the too-thin cushion. He groaned. A second later Peyote was on top of him, his mouth on his, and he groaned for an entirely different reason, hands coming up instinctively to his back.

“Finally alone,” Peyote moaned against his mouth. He reached down to grope Asra’s ass, an entirely new and not unwelcome sensation. Tentatively, Asra slid his hands down Peyote’s back, fingers brushing shyly over the fabric of his pants.

In response, Peyote’s tongue slipped into his mouth, pulling a sigh out of Asra. The slick dance of tongue and lips was familiar by now, after months as the mysterious, handsome young magician wandering in search of another master to teach him. Soon Peyote moved to kiss his throat, and for a few moments all Asra could do was gasp and grasp at any part of Peyote he could reach, his mind going blank from the incredible feeling he was experiencing for the first time. _A little more and I'll be flying_ , part of him said, through the haze. On instinct, he bucked his hips up into Peyote’s, sending electricity tearing through his veins and shocking a groan out of Peyote. “Wanted to get you alone... so many people...”

_Thank the gods for uninherited houses and grateful townspeople,_ Asra thought dazedly. That was the last thing he thought – or remembered much of – that night.

The sun filtered in through the worn shutters of the house the next morning, dust motes turned into dancing spots of light in its rays.

“My fucking head.” Peyote’s voice sent a stab of pain the size of Lorelei’s loom through Asra’s skull, and Asra grunted. “Shut up.”

They were still on the couch. Asra’s face was smashed into Peyote’s shirt, still mostly on him except for a couple of missing buttons. There was an all-too-familiar stickiness on the inside of his pants. Those were still on, much to Asra’s embarrassment and relief, if dulled by the pounding in his head and the exhaustion he felt down to his bones. A glance over at the coffee table revealed the pouch to be undisturbed and safe.

Slowly, painfully, they disentangled themselves from each other, between mumbled ‘You’re on my shirt’ and ‘My leg’s asleep’.

For a few long moments, both were silent as they sat next to each other on the couch. Eventually Asra found it in him to hook his bag with his foot and drag it close enough to reach inside. His hand closed around a copper bottle, buried in his spare clothes, and pulled it out. _Thank the gods I kept the extra I made last time._

Asra uncorked it and drank, before pressing it into Peyote’s hand – the one not currently cradling his head. “Hangover potion,” he rasped, by way of explanation.

“Cheers.” Peyote tossed it back.

The bottle was dropped carelessly back into Asra’s bag. Already he could feel it working, clearing away the fog in his brain, and making him all too aware of the increasingly awkward silence in the room.

Honestly, he barely even _knew_ Peyote. They’d met at the Festival, gotten drunk on cactus wine, and spent the evening dancing, pausing only just long enough for Asra to collect the keys for his new house. That was it. He’d even known Lorelei’s ‘friends’ better.

Peyote was the one to finally break the silence, standing abruptly. “I should get going. My mother’s going to have my head when I get home.”

_Right. Parents._ That was a thing other people had; Aunt Nimue was the closest he had had to one in the last several years, and lately, so long as she saw him for a few days every few months, she remained satisfied that he was alive and well. “Sure. I’ll see you around, then,” Asra said easily.

Lies. He’d be gone by the next dawn, and both of them knew it. Still, they pretended they didn’t, and Peyote waved at him as he left.

And then Asra was left alone in the dead man’s house he now owned, his bag at his feet, dust dancing around him with every breath.

_May as well get dressed and clean up before I leave, I guess._

Water, Asra had learned, was a lot easier on him to control than anything else.

_Doesn’t stop me from being an idiot for trying this._ He had thought flooding the inside of the adobe clear to the ceiling was an inspired move at the time he did it. After all, water cleaned everything, and he could just force the water from anything porous afterwards, the same way he could make the water stay inside the house. That had been his reasoning at the time.

Now, looking up at the thoroughly out of reach ceiling beams, still dripping water, and the now-warped wooden furniture, he considered that he probably should have just taken a few hours to do it the manual way. “Fuck.”

A drop of water landed on his face, and he instinctively patted his chest to check that the pouch there was still pulled closed, the precious egg of his new familiar cradled inside and cocooned in short, lumpy strands of heating yarn. Faust was comfortably warm, between the warmth of his body and the enchanted yarn. Good.

“Go learn from other masters, she says. Don’t think she expected me to end up owning a house in Nopal,” Asra commented to the egg, eyeing the furniture. _Will that shelf support my weight? Only one way to find out._ “Uninherited houses, who would have thought?”

Asra was already considering how long it would take to bring over the other artefacts he had picked up in his wanderings. Currently, they resided in his and Muriel’s hut, much to Muriel’s discomfort.

_I’ll have to replace half the furniture_ , he thought ruefully. Later, when he had the time – and Muriel wasn’t expecting him back in five days, and he needed five days to get to the hut. For now, all he had the time for was to try to find a way to force the water from the ceiling before leaving.

Five days later, Muriel glanced over briefly at him from where he was getting some wood from the woodpile, before giving him a single nod and turning back to his work. Asra grinned, returning a wave before heading inside.

Faust poked her tiny head out of his collar at the sudden change in humidity and warmth between the inside and the outside of the hut, tongue flicking as she tasted the air. Her curiosity nudged gently through the bond. “Friend’s home,” Asra explained, stroking her head.

A sense of contentment, and then she ducked her head back into his collar. She had been fine moving from Prakra, to Nopal and through countless other places and finally home to Vesuvia, so with luck, she would be fine accompanying him on his future wanderings.

_Where next? Lorelei said my Milovan was workable, and there’s enough trade back and forth. I could hop on a boat, earn my fare through healing and simple tricks, and be there in a month. Or maybe Nevivon?_ He’d heard of water magic unique to the town. _Why not?_ Young people like him were supposed to be restless and go experience the world, as Aunt Nimue claimed.

Why she still paid him at all was a mystery, with how little he was around nowadays, though he tried to earn his fare and not to use the money she gave him as much as possible.

Muriel finally came back inside, what looked like half a tree’s worth of wood cradled in his arms. Without prompting Asra went to help him unload it into the log basket, arranging it semi-neatly. “I bought a house in Nopal.”

“What for?” From anyone else, it might have been rude, but he knew Muriel well enough to know that he wasn’t unhappy about it. Asra shrugged. For the life of him, he wasn’t entirely sure himself – the opportunity had been there, and he’d had the money. “It was cheap and good. And I can get all this out of here.”

He waved a hand at the two trunks of his clothing and things he had picked up in his travels. “Worst case, I can just sell it again.”

Muriel nodded. “And the snake?”

“Oh! Faust, come out for a second and meet Muriel,” Asra said, glancing down at his collar. A tiny, purple head emerged from the collar of his shirt, watching Muriel curiously. Muriel blinked, then looked over at the toy purple snake lying in the bed among the furs and pillows. “Ah.”

No further words were needed. Asra coaxed Faust to go lie by the fire before flopping down in bed for a well-earned rest, and Muriel went to feed the fire. Tomorrow he would go to the shop. Tonight, he would rest, and dream of other places he could explore.

-

Aunt Nimue was attending to a customer when he let himself in through the back door. The hammer and chisel dangling off their belt identified them as a stoneworker of some sort, though he didn’t recognise them specifically. She gave him a brief nod in greeting before jerking her head in the direction of the stairs.

_I hear and obey._ He took the steps two at a time, curious to see what Lorelei was up to since the last time he’d seen her, months ago.

To his surprise, she was still at her loom, as she had been when he left. Fung was still ugly as sin where she was perched on one of the beams, only just starting to shed her down. By the size of the pile of fabric below the loom, it was the same piece of cloth Lorelei had been working on when he’d left as well. In her aura, under the focus and calm that was necessary for thread magic was a low thrum of reluctance, as if she simply didn’t care for what she was doing and only did this because she was told to.

“Hi Asra,” she greeted, not looking away from her work. Joy, then envy and resentment flared up in quick succession, smothered an instant later by the focus of thread magic. Asra frowned, confused. The weaving looked as even as ever, the movement of her hands not interrupted for an instant by his entrance, and everything had been normal enough when he left.

Terse, she continued, “Aunt Nimue sent you up?”

“Yeah.” _What the hell is going on?_

Lorelei nodded, finally stopping her loom and slumping with a sigh. She turned to him, rubbing her eyes with one thin hand. “It’s good to have you back.”

There were dark circles under her eyes when she lifted her hand away. Before he could think twice he was sitting beside her on the bench, shoulders bumping comfortably. “Gods, when was the last time you slept?”

“I slept,” she insisted. “When did you get a _snake_?”

“Oh!” Faust was peeking out of his collar, her gaze fixed on something over Lorelei’s shoulder. Lorelei and Asra followed her gaze up to find Fung staring back just as intently.

They moved at the same time. Lorelei lunging to her feet to get Fung, Asra shielding Faust with one hand and grabbing a fistful of Lorelei’s jacket with the other to steady her against the sudden movement. She flashed him a grin even as she cuddled Fung to her chest, clearly pinning Fung’s wings to her body. “Don’t even think about it.”

Fung squawked in protest, but didn’t struggle. Faust slid out from behind Asra’s protective hand. Concern radiated off her, then curiosity as Lorelei gingerly sat back down, still holding Fung. “Faust, meet Fung. Fung, play nice.”

“Faust? Huh. Faust and Fung.” Amusement flashed across her face and through her aura, swiftly chased by the same resentment and envy from earlier even as her face remained smiling.

This finally got a frown out of Asra, worry rather than the unease he’d learned to associate with Aunt Nimue. _Something’s definitely wrong. I can’t let this slide._ “Lori, did I piss you off or something?”

“What? Why?” she asked quickly, too quickly. In her hands, Fung stretched her neck out to nose at Faust, and soon they were too occupied with watching their respective familiars to continue.

It wasn’t until later, as he was tossing out the dishwater – another meal where he’d watched Aunt Nimue start eating first, before daring to take a bite – that he realised he’d never gotten a straight answer out of her.

_She should still be up_. By now he knew Aunt Nimue’s and Lorelei’s habits like his own; Lorelei would be up for at least a couple of hours more. Leaving Faust by the still-warm stove, he made his way up the steps and to the living quarters of the shop.

“- horn and rosewood and even silver and jade, finer than even your grandmother had on her wedding day,” Aunt Nimue was saying, sitting on the couch, across from Lorelei at one of the spinning wheels. On the coffee table between them was a couple dozen hairpins, spread out in the little cloth wrappings they’d evidently been sent in. Everything from plain, sturdy wood like Aunt Nimue normally wore, to prettier horn and rosewood pieces, and finally, unbelievably, an intricate silver hairpin, a single, large drop of blue jade set in the top. Incredibly rare, if undervalued.

“I won’t put them on,” Lorelei repeated insistently. Her braid dangled past the seat of her chair, the same way she had worn it since he met her.

“Of course you won’t; your _ma_  isn’t around, so I’ll put them on you. Asra, do you think my damn fool niece should put on these hairpins her father sent her for her birthday or not?” Aunt Nimue turned on him suddenly, her gaze pinning him where he had paused at the top of the stairs.

Lorelei’s expression grew hard. Whatever this was, it was far more than just a choice of hairstyle, Asra knew now. _Her birthday isn't even for another six months, after the Masquerade_ , he thought dazedly. She'd be sixteen then, six months younger than him.

“Stay out of this, Asra,” she warned.

“I – uh.” Asra floundered, caught between Aunt Nimue’s expectant expression and Lorelei’s warning, and the knowledge that he was currently very, very out of his depth.

Thankfully, or not, Aunt Nimue’s practicality soon won out. She huffed, waving a hand. “You’ll probably take it down as soon as you’re out of my sight. Fine, keep your braids. But you’ll have to put it up eventually, you’re almost of age.”

“Not until I have to, then.” Lorelei’s retort had Aunt Nimue pulling a face, pushing herself to her feet with a grunt. “Do you have anything to be doing up here, Asra? No?”

Asra shook his head frantically, desperate to get as far away from the awkward situation as quickly as humanly possible. With a quick 'Night!' to both of them, he all but ran back downstairs and to the safety of his hammock.

He never did find out the answer to his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a background in Chinese tradition and culture - you still get points for working out what Aunt Nimue and Lorelei were talking about.
> 
> Sorry this took a while, I've basically spent the week after A Levels ended in various states of partying, or sick!


	8. Revelations

For two days, Asra and Lorelei barely spoke a word to each other that wasn’t related to the shop or chores.

The tension was almost palpable. Whatever the significance of that exchange in the living room was, Asra didn’t know how to ask, didn’t really dare to, really, and Lorelei maintained her tight-lipped silence.

Aunt Nimue didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t care. From her issued orders that saw Asra taking on increasing numbers of duties around the shop; balancing the accounts, judging whether anything needed replacing and budgeting for that, brewing potions, budgeting for their daily expenses, and so on. Faust was included as an – albeit tiny – extra mouth, her expenses added to the ledger along with Fung.

Meanwhile, Lorelei had spent the two days almost entirely at her loom, Fung waddling about the couch restlessly and taking short, practice flights off the arms. Several times Asra looked up from his bookkeeping to hear a muffled thump as Fung crashed into the seat of the couch. Faust hissed her concern the first few times, finally giving up after the fifth thud.

Lorelei finally came down a little after lunch, kneading her lower back with the back of her wrist, an embroidery hoop and embroidery supplies in hand. Without a word she went to the shop area, grabbed a stool, and dragged it over to the back to sit by the stove.

Asra glanced at the light outside; the shop was empty, and would likely remain so for another hour or two. This time of day was always a ‘dead zone’, when potions and charms could be made, errands run, and so on with it being unlikely that any customers would come in. Aunt Nimue had gone to visit one of her friends from her construction days, and he was most of the way done with the bookkeeping. _Now or never_.

He dragged a chair over to sit beside her, already stitching by the pale winter light streaming in through the back window. Lorelei didn’t so much as glance up, her gaze fixed on her needlework: gold on gold, imperium nearly drowning out the blue of her magic as she stitched intent into the cloth. It was similar to the symbols she used on her own clothes and the rags used for Fung’s nest – warmth, breathability, fast growth, and a few others he didn’t recognise.

Suddenly she looked up, her gaze sharp as the needle in her hand. “Do you want something?”

_Nope_. Asra did the one thing he was undoubtedly good at: evade. “Do you want to see what I picked up in Prakra?”

Her face lit up in interest, dark eyes wide. Part of Asra wondered if she’d ever deliberately turned that look on others to get what she wanted, because gods, she was honestly _cute_ like that. Unconsciously, he smiled at the sight.

“Show me.”

Just like that, the tension was broken. Within minutes they were seated at the counter, Lorelei’s embroidery discarded on a cabinet behind them, shoulders brushing companionably.

“This is what one of the magicians in Prakra taught me,” Asra explained, sketching out the magic circle on the paper in front of them. Next to him, Lorelei craned her head to see, drinking in the information. “Action symbol, the sign for fire,” he pointed out each symbol as he explained, “they use it to train new students how to start channelling their magic, with their hands just here and here. ”

“Huh.” Lorelei frowned in confusion as she watched Asra’s hands, then her expression cleared. “Right. Forgot that not everywhere starts as young as Milova does.”

Unconsciously, Asra’s gaze flicked down in the direction of her feet, the deliberate damage done both to force her to develop her magic more quickly to compensate, and as a marker of status – so valuable, so important that she would never have to do manual labour or work outside the home.

The touch of her hand against his jerked him out of his thoughts, Lorelei leaning across him to steal the brush from his fingers. “Let me try.”

She moved to draw on the paper, copying the circle he sketched – perfect down to the order and direction of the strokes, but this time with a different symbol in place of fire.

“ _Fung_ ,” they read at the same time. Lorelei put her hands on either side of the circle and took a moment to focus. “FUCK!”

“... We both knew I’ve always been good at air magic,” Lorelei commented later, as she put the scattered papers back in order. “Same with you and water magic.”

“I don’t think either of us were expecting _that_.” Asra leaned on the counter, half focused on the conversation, half focusing on directing the water to clean up the spilled ink. Lorelei looked sheepish at that. “Fair.”

Idly, she spread out the papers again – bookkeeping for the shop, mostly done. “Want me to check your numbers? All those years of suffering under my tutor must have been good for _something_. You’ll have to walk me through how this thing works, but,” she shrugged, “I’m a quick learner.”

Asra nearly sagged in relief as he directed the water into the basin. They were definitely back. A little different, but they were back.

_That, and I really need someone to check those numbers_. He could admit that much _._ “Yes, please. I have no faith in my math.”

A snort, and they sat back down at the counter, Asra launching into a quick explanation of how Aunt Nimue’s system worked while Lorelei listened intently.

The next morning on their route to the market, Lorelei slapped a sheaf of papers into Asra’s hand, triumphant. “Balanced it properly, _and_ budgeted for everything. I had to learn to do this when I was ten, it’s just a slightly different format and set of numbers.”

A few dozen questions swirled around Asra’s mind at the same time as he flipped through page after page of corrected accounts and budgeting, but the first that came out of his mouth was, “When you were ten?!”

The impression he’d gotten of Lorelei’s childhood in Milova, from two years of friendship and living in the same shop, had been of a very privileged, carefree life. She had a room she shared with her full sister, a tutor who taught her and her other sisters languages, mathematics, some history and literature, and servants to take care of her. An older magician had been hired to teach her and her half-sister, another magician, to spin and embroider the enchanted textiles that were so valuable in Milova.

So why on earth would she of all people have to learn the basics of bookkeeping?

Lorelei shot him a wry look. “What, you thought us Milovan women just sat around spinning and embroidering all day?”

His embarrassed silence said it all. _I... probably should have given it a bit more thought._ “Still – accounts?”

She laughed, bright in the cool darkness of pre-dawn. “How else is a lady supposed to keep track of everything in the household? Stuff goes in, stuff goes out, you still need to make sure that the family is fed and clothed, the animals are cared for, the servants are paid, and all the numbers add up nicely at the end of the day.”

“Makes sense,” he conceded, folding up the accounts and stuffing it in a pocket. “At ten, though?”

Something indecipherable flashed across her face, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Milova isn’t like Vesuvia. Here, girls might marry in their twenties or later, late teens at youngest. In Milova, girls mostly marry by eighteen, or not at all. It’s much better here.”

Before he could process that truly stunning statement, she reached out to take the shopping bag from him. “Let me. You said something about anti-rust magic in Port Tremaire?”

It could not have more plainly been an evasive subject change, but Asra was no stranger to those – and admittedly, one of the first things he’d thought when he’d encountered the magic was that _Lorelei is gonna love this, she’s always having to get new needles because they rust so quickly._ With that, he let it drop in favour of teaching her the latest technique he’d picked up in his travels, finally demonstrating on a random rusty nail in someone’s stall table.

As soon as they got back, though, Lorelei was sent back upstairs to weave, Asra ordered to present his work to Aunt Nimue.

“Your handwriting is getting better,” Aunt Nimue commented offhandedly. Asra had a brief, heart-stopping moment of terror before he realised that she had been looking at a page of his actual work, and Lorelei’s corrections had been carefully disguised in his usual mistakes, her handwriting close enough to his own to pass. He shrugged, hoping desperately that Aunt Nimue hadn’t noticed. “I should hope so, Lorelei teases me enough about it.”

A grunt, and Aunt Nimue turned a page. “Good. Messy work, but you caught the mistakes. You won’t be cheated if you run a shop, if you can keep this up.”

_I can’t, Lorelei’s the one who learned this when she was_ ten _and spotted all the mistakes, not me,_ he thought. Out loud, he simply gave an agreeing, “Yes Aunt Nimue.”

Aunt Nimue put the papers back in order and jerked her chin at the counter. “I want to see what you’ve learned while you were gallivanting around on my money. Start from Prakra.”

The steady _clunk_ of Lorelei’s loom upstairs accompanied his demonstrations, as Aunt Nimue watched intently, something like pride in her sharp gaze.

-

“Come on, you’ve been at the loom all day. My back is aching just looking at you,” Asra teased. Lorelei rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “I don’t weave like a six-year-old holding a shuttle for the first time in her life and _insisting_ on working on the grown-up’s loom.”

“Six? I thought I was ten?” Sensing that he was in for the long haul, Asra flopped down on the couch, next to his finished pile of mending. On the coffee table lay a few small stacks of golden fabric, weighed down by a pair of fabric shears and various other bits and bobs from the sewing basket, including the nigh on indestructible enchanted thread Lorelei normally used for her shoes.

Lorelei snorted. “In your dreams.”

“At least I’ve never fallen out of a hammock. How the hell did you manage that?” This got a loud groan out of her. “It was one time, shut up. Doesn’t Muri usually come over around now?”

“I thought I’d keep you company,” he said easily. It wasn’t fair that she was perpetually stuck at her loom or with her embroidery hoop these days, he felt, and anyway, she was the only person other than Muriel who he actually liked being around. _And it’s raining._

Lorelei didn’t answer at first, her lips pressed into a thin line against her smile and her gaze fixed on the movement of the shuttle. “Thanks,” she finally said, after a pause, not looking at him.

From downstairs came Aunt Nimue’s voice telling Faust to get out of the way and Fung to stop staring out the window. Rain whispered outside, accompanied by the steady _clunk_ of Lorelei’s loom. Idle, curious, Asra leaned over to take a look at the stacks of fabric – the cloth too fine to be bags or most accessories, but too small to be clothing.

Pale lines were traced on it in chalk, obviously guides for sewing and cutting later. Asra frowned in confusion as he slowly recognised the outline of a tiny dress, Lorelei’s embroidery around the neckline and on the bodice – breathability, strength, blessings for health, for growth, for healthy appetite and luck.

Eyes wide, he picked up the other piles to investigate. Tiny shirts, vests, pants, all embroidered by Lorelei in gold thread. _Baby clothes_. “The hell? Is one of your siblings pregnant?”

There was no way it could be for anyone else. Lorelei wasn’t married, and she wasn’t even sixteen yet anyway. They didn’t – or at least, Asra didn’t – know anyone in Vesuvia rich enough to afford both the fabric and the cost of having a trained Milovan magician personally spend hours embroidering it and presumably sewing it together with enchanted thread, which just left Lorelei’s family.

“No.” Lorelei continued weaving, faster than before but no less precise.

“Getting married?” Asra guessed, curiosity and an instinctive sense of _I have to know_ winning out over the part of him urging him to drop it and never bring it up again.

Lorelei’s hands finally went still, the loom filled. Her eyes on the end of the cloth, she said, voice unsettlingly calm, “No. Me. This is my dowry. I’m being offered to return to Milova to marry whenever I finally decide to start using those pins my _baba_ and _mama_ sent me.”

For a long moment, there was complete silence.

“What the _fuck_.” Seemingly oblivious to the utter confusion and shock radiating off Asra, Lorelei pushed herself to her feet, grabbing her scissors to cut the cloth free of the loom. Her braid swung past her hips, a terrible significance to it now. Asra recalled how he had never seen Aunt Nimue wear her hair in anything but a bun, and how Lorelei never wore her hair in anything but braids even on the hottest days. He had always assumed it was personal preference and left it at that.

Finally his mind caught up with the rest of Lorelei’s statement, the reality of the situation. “But you’re fifteen!”

“I am also the witch daughter of a provincial governor by his First Wife, a virtuous woman who both passed the Official’s Academy entrance exam and has borne a magician son and a witch daughter, both of whom lived to adulthood.

“In all likelihood, and with how I was raised, I’ll end up the First Wife of one of my older brothers’ or _baba_ ’s friends or colleagues. I’d have met them if I’d stayed in Milova, but it will at least be a comfortable life like the cards said. I don’t think they will be cruel, at least not unbearably so. It’s not as if I have a choice if I go back to Milova.” Her tone was as even as the movement of her scissors, snipping the warp threads holding the cloth on the loom.

She didn’t need to explain further. Both of them knew how Milovan law and customs worked. She could not hold property except as part of her dowry, was largely restricted to work that could be done at home, could not travel or work without the consent of a male guardian. Effectively, it was a choice between poverty, prostitution, or marriage.

It hadn’t mattered much then, the little bits and pieces of information he’d picked up over the years from her and Aunt Nimue. Now, though, faced with the reality of what it meant, it was horrifying.

_Like the cards said, she said. The Nine of Pentacles._ That was the card she had drawn, two years ago in the one and only reading he had ever done for her and Aunt Nimue. _A comfortable life in a nice home. An improvement in finances, security._

_But that was mostly fulfilled years ago, with the healing wraps she sold. It was a Minor Arcana, it isn’t_ meant _to be something life-changing like a marriage and moving back home_.

_I never told either of them how the Arcana work._

Lorelei’s voice pulled him back to the present, flat as she explained, “I’m marriageable as soon as I put my hair up, which is-”

“-usually when you’re sixteen,” Asra finished, remembering Lorelei and Aunt Nimue’s argument, feeling faintly sick. “So what happens to the shop?”

Part of him had always assumed that Lorelei might eventually inherit the shop. She was good with magic, knew how to run the shop, and she was Aunt Nimue’s _niece_. Who else would she leave it to?

Lorelei’s eyebrows went up. “I guess Aunt Nimue runs it with you until she dies, and then you take over. What do you think she’s been grooming you for for the last two years?”

_Ace of Wands. Good news, and a new project that will go well_. Fulfilled with Muriel’s discovery and his and Muriel’s restoration of the hut; however, someone who didn’t know the significance of the different Arcana could easily misinterpret it into something else. _The shop could be a project that goes well_.

Asra didn’t know what was more frightening: how horrifyingly that reading – and a single card reading, at that – had been misinterpreted, or the matter-of-fact way Lorelei pronounced their fates, her unnerving serenity even as she folded up the gigantic bolt of cloth and set it on top of the loom. How the hell was she still so calm? “Are you alright with this?”

His voice came out gentler than expected, something he hadn’t really been sure he was capable of. Flighty, careless, certainly.

But Lorelei was different. This situation was different, so deeply screwed up he had no idea where to even begin, and at the centre of it all a girl paying the price for a misinterpretation and the privilege he had envied.

Lorelei crossed the room to join him on the couch and pulled a stack of golden cloth closer to her, her face finally grim rather than completely blank. “No. But I don’t think I can avoid it. I was born with a golden spoon in my mouth and walk on golden lotus feet, and soon I'll be locked away in a golden cage in exchange for a golden bride price, to give birth to children I’ll wrap in golden clothes. But you, you started from nothing, and nothing can tie you. You are free.

“This is the hand we're dealt, but you at least could choose how to play yours. And gods, I don't know if I hate you or if I envy you for it."

Faced with that, the truth of Lorelei's envy and the fates that choice and coincidence had condemned them to, Asra once again did the only thing he could think to do: he got Faust and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't caught on by now, Milova is based off circa Qing dynasty Guangdong and China as a whole, which was, uh, not a good place and time to be a woman, particularly in comparison to the much more liberal Vesuvia. Basically, Milova is the Saudi Arabia (particularly before the Crown Prince started his reforms) to Vesuvia's, say, Sweden or USA.
> 
> You also see pre-game!Asra's tendency to run for the goddamn hills. Like. A LOT.


	9. A Way Out

This far into the forest, there was little point in locks, and the wards – twigs and enchanted twine, made malleable and matted together by water – had been made with both Muriel and Asra’s magic. They knew to let Asra through rather than stop him dead. _And Lori with the string, if she ever came out this far._ Had she? He’d been away for months, he couldn’t know.

_She might never._

_Envy. She envied me._

Asra’s hands trembled from the cold as he knelt in front of the fireplace, arranging tinder and kindling before dropping a tiny flame into the centre of it all. Fire magic was far from natural from him, but he could do it if he had to. In seconds, and with judicious application of air magic, the fire was crackling merrily, counterpoint to the rain outside.

Faust sluggishly made her way from around his neck to lie in front of the fire, almost in it as she tried to warm up. Guilt at bringing her into the cold tightened his jaw and sent him glancing over at the wood basket; still stocked, thank the gods. “Sorry, Faust.”

Confusion and forgiveness filtered through the fledgling bond. After accepting a brief chin scritch from him, Faust settled down to doze in front of the fire, leaving Asra alone with his thoughts.

_I’m supposed to inherit the shop. Aunt Nimue is an old woman, it won’t be long now. Oh gods, I’m not ready, I want to keep wandering, not stay in Vesuvia and watch a shop. I’m too young for this. I don’t want to be tied to a shop._

_And Lori envied me my freedom_. Was he truly free? Compared to her, he certainly was; but was it worth – well, everything? She had never known hunger or cold, had been educated, hadn’t had to so much as do chores until she was thirteen and came to apprentice to Aunt Nimue...

... but he didn’t have half the bones in his feet broken and reshaped as a display of status at the age of four, could at least legally hold property and have financial independence in his own homeland, and he wasn’t being called home to marry a near-stranger before he was sixteen.

_Lori had a good life handed to her on a silver platter._

_But I don’t have to depend on a man I have never met and then kids I might never want to have for my entire adult life._

Would it be such a bad life? Part of him wanted to say no, remembering the days of no food and bad water, stolen clothes encrusted with sand and salt. Then he remembered, more recently, the sweet invitation of the horizon, the reckless assurance that _I can work something out_ as he walked in the direction of a random town – and finally Lorelei’s mingled joy and envy when he returned from his travels, stuck at her loom with only Fung for company.

The sound of the rain momentarily intensified before it was muffled by the door again, Muriel shuffling in with the smell of iron and the clank of his chain. Asra knew better than to try talking to Muriel now, not cruel enough to force him to talk when he wanted peace.

Instead, he put his rumination aside for the moment to take the bag of food from Muriel while Muriel shucked off his soaked cloak and shoes, and hung up the belt and carpenter’s axe that served as both tool and protection. Slumped at the table, staring sightlessly at the plain food, self-hatred and loathing of the world around him practically radiating from him, Muriel seemed much smaller than he actually was. That ridiculous chain he was forced to wear scraped against the edge of the table as he reached for the food – bread, sardines, some greens – and helped himself to some. “Do I still have blood on me?”

Asra had been so preoccupied with observing him, he hadn’t even realised that he was staring. “No,” he said quickly, grabbing some food to occupy himself.

The question nagged at him, though. What was freedom worth? Freedom to wander, or freedom from hunger? “Muriel?”

Silence, but Muriel raised an eyebrow at Asra. “What would you give for freedom?”

“This is about Lori, isn’t it?” Before Asra could confirm or deny it – or better yet, ask when _Lorelei_ had become _Lori_ to Muriel – the man sighed. “Almost anything.”

Would Lori? She had been so pampered growing up, would she be willing to give it up for-

_Milova isn’t like Vesuvia. It’s much better here._

_I don’t think they will be cruel, at least not unbearably so._

_Poverty, prostitution, or marriage._

She’d be nuts to go back.

“Asra... Lori isn’t me. I think she wants independence, not freedom. She doesn’t mind having to obey her family.” Muriel’s contribution was unexpected, jerking Asra out of his thoughts. He looked thoughtful. “She starves if _one man_ dies before she has sons. You can at least make a living and keep it. She can’t even own the clothes on her back in Milova unless it’s part of her dowry.”

“How do you know all this?” Asra didn’t mean for it to sound accusing, but he was sixteen and stupid and Muriel deflated nonetheless, his face settling into his usual guarded expression. “We got to talking while you were away – and you should too.”

That was the sensible thing to do, wasn’t it? But somehow, the prospect of facing Lorelei again after all that –

No, Muriel was right. They had to talk. There was so much he didn’t know, so many questions to ask. And this was _Lorelei_ ; if he couldn’t talk to her, who could he talk to other than Muriel?

 _Anyway, it’s not as if you can avoid it,_ part of him pointed out. _You spend most of your time in the same shop._

Tomorrow. He would talk to her tomorrow, when he had to go back. Tonight, though: “Muri, can I bunk here for tonight?”

Muriel narrowed his eyes at the nickname, but nodded. “You know you don’t have to ask me that.”

Something in him twinged at that. “Yeah, I know.”

“Sleep on the side of the bed away from the wall; you have to get up earlier than I do.”

-

Lorelei was waiting for him outside the shop the next morning, basket and shopping bag hanging off her arm, his usual share of bread in her hand. Wordlessly, she handed him the shopping bag and the bread, and they walked in silence to the market as he ate.

The air between them was cold, tense, the truths that had been revealed the previous day and more unsaid hanging between them like a steel-cold sword. It gave Asra the opportunity to observe and think, at least. He’d never given it much thought, but with the reminder of her possible marriage... Lorelei wasn’t unattractive, objectively; deceptively delicate with her pale skin and swaying gait, petite, her thick, dark braid reaching nearly to her thighs.

 _Well, not so much on the delicate_. The whirlwind she’d accidentally caused with her magic, that time he showed her the magic circles he’d learned to draw in Prakra, came to mind. As well as the way she’d lunged to her feet and grabbed Fung like an unruly chicken to protect Faust at their first meeting.

When she laughed, though, and the triumph on her face when she got something right. That excitement on her face at the prospect of learning something new. There was _something_ he didn’t get with Muriel – something he refused to deal with right now.

Her hand came to tuck into his elbow at the same point in their route it always did, his gait slowing automatically to the same pace as always, as they carefully made their way over the usual, just slightly rickety boards just outside the market. It was reflexive by now, the same way it was reflexive for him to pull his collar up to keep Faust warm or for Muriel to bring back twice as much food as he actually ate from the Coliseum.

Or her to lament the state of his clothes or shoes every so often and trade a bobbin of her thread for something new for him. Or help him hide his mistakes in the accounts he was supposed to do, and him to no longer wait to see her eat any food she offered him.

“I’m sorry.”

Of all the things he expected to hear come out of Lorelei’s mouth, that was one of the last. “What for?”

She wasn’t looking at him, gaze on the fish she was picking out. “I don’t – It’s on me. I knew this was coming for ages, and I never told you. It wasn’t fair of me.”

The mistake he’d made with the Arcana came roaring to the forefront of his mind, raking sharp claws over his conscience. Slowly, reluctantly, he began, “Lori...”

“Let me finish. I asked you to teach me everything you learned because I wanted the shop. I wanted to show Aunt Nimue that I was just as capable as you and I could succeed her just as well as you could. I wasn’t angry when you came back from travelling, I envied you because I can never do that. I’ll be married before I’m eighteen, and then I’ll be sitting inside all day with my needlework and spinning, but you – you’ll get to go out, and travel, and choose who you marry. If they’re an asshole, you can leave. I can’t.”

She took a deep breath. “I am to obey and take care of my family. I thought – if Aunt Nimue was childless, she might have agreed to have me here because she wanted me to inherit, to have someone take over and take care of her in her old age. But no. She saw you hungry and on the streets, saw your talent, and then your cards – you’re supposed to be her successor, and I’m supposed to go back to Milova.”

“Lori, the cards are wrong!” he finally managed to say. That stilled her. They stopped dead in the middle of the market, the winter chill so much colder now. Their breaths misted the air between them white.

“What?” Lorelei’s eyes were wide. Asra swallowed. “I – I didn’t tell you. The cards we drew, those were all Minor Arcana. They aren’t supposed to mean anything major, not like a marriage and moving back to Milova. Both our predictions were fulfilled years ago. That was when Muriel and I found the hut-”

“- and I started selling those wraps. I made a killing off of them,” Lorelei finished faintly. “‘An improvement in finances’. And the shop – it’s simple, but it’s a nice home. But what about Aunt Nimue’s?”

She frowned, confused. “That hasn’t...”

“We don’t know what plans she has or what legacy she has left. But I screwed up, Lori. If I’d told you – I should have told you, and Aunt Nimue – this wouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.” The confession wrung him out, left him searching her stunned face for any sign of comprehension, any sign of emotion.

For a long moment, she didn’t react. Then she closed her eyes. “Give me that bag. Go back to the shop, I’ll do this morning on my own. I just need to be alone for a while.”

And like a coward, his conscience raking at him, he handed his bag to her and all but ran back to the shop.

When he got there, the innkeeper’s mother was sitting at the counter with Aunt Nimue, an old Milovan woman with tanned, weatherbeaten skin and grey-streaked hair, calloused hands cradling a warm mug of tea.

“- I told that girl, ‘You’re a pretty witch girl with perfect golden lotus feet. Your _baba_ is a _doutui_ , your _mama_ is an honourable woman and a _fusang_ , your sisters are fertile, one of your sisters and your brothers are _guiyen_ , _ziyun_ , rising stars in the army. Your _kaufu_ is the Director of the Granaries Bureau! There is no way you cannot marry well, and none would insult your family by offering for you as a concubine unless he’s a Duke or higher!’ And what does this silly girl say? ‘But _yihma_ , witches never leave the house after they marry. Can you imagine me doing that?’.”

Both women laughed.

“At least she’s not like my sister. My father needed the bride price, so he married her to a merchant! And she’s a witch too!”

“Ai, poor girl.”

Asra felt faintly sick, leaning against the doorframe. Abruptly, he knew what he had to do. _“I am to obey and take care of my family.” Aunt Nimue is childless. Lorelei could have been meant to take care of her in her old age, an heiress and successor in a country where girls can inherit. And I don’t want to inherit the shop._

_I know how I can put this right._

“Aunt Nimue, ma’am,” he greeted, nodding in respect to them. Aunt Nimue straightened, interested. “You’re back early.”

His hammock was in its usual place, scrunched up at the back with his small chest of clothes under it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fung perched near the back door, waiting for Lorelei to get back.

“Yes. Uh. Aunt Nimue. Thank you for feeding me and teaching me all these years, but I can’t inherit the shop. The cards didn’t mean I – I didn’t explain them properly,” he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve. The shortest explanation took a few moments of stuttering, as he backed away to where his hammock was, not taking his eyes off the two old women. “They were fulfilled years ago. Lori is supposed to inherit. Not me. So I’ll just get my things and go. Thank you, Aunt Nimue.”

Before either of the women could react, Asra grabbed his single chest of stuff from under the hammock and got out the door, too afraid to see Aunt Nimue’s reaction or face Lorelei again.

A thoroughly unimpressed Fung squawked at him on the way out, but he didn’t look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which people talk, and things go to hell anyway.
> 
> Mystery of the day: does Asra run at the end of every chapter because he's an idiot who could represent Vesuvia in running at the Olympics, or because it tends to be an easy way to end a chapter?
> 
> Translations:  
> doutui - provincial governor  
> fusang - student who (if barely) passed the infamously tough college entrance exams  
> guiyen - student who passed the imperial exams at the provincial level, a rank above fusang  
> ziyun - county magistrate  
> kaufu - maternal uncle by blood - mother's brother


	10. Run

He stopped by his and Muriel’s hut first. The man was still sleeping, curled on his side with part of the blanket clutched to his chest in a death grip, wary of it being taken. He’d be up to go the Coliseum once dawn broke.

Asra had no intention of sticking around that long.

 _I get out of Vesuvia. Lori inherits the shop and doesn’t need to marry a stranger to survive. Muriel will be fine without me. Aunt Nimue has her successor. We all win_ , he reasoned, changing out of his black work clothes and grabbing his travelling bag.

There wasn’t much that he really felt a need to grab; a mix of clothes that he kept here, some blankets, the snake toy, and some of the more obviously magical items making Muriel uncomfortable went into his bag.

Muriel mumbled something and rolled over in his sleep. The pale light of early winter dawn was beginning to work its way in through the single window in the hut, painting the small chest he had brought from the shop bone white.

Asra hesitated over bringing that. The Nopal house did need new furniture, and he may as well leave a few changes of clothes there while he was at it…

 _No, that part of my life is dead now._ He couldn’t come back to Vesuvia, not for a while – if only for Lorelei’s sake. Even now he didn’t trust Aunt Nimue not to try to manoeuvre things the way she wanted. _Enough time for Lori to work out how to stay in Vesuvia, now that I’m out of the picture._

He would miss her and Muriel, of course, and to a lesser extent Aunt Nimue, but he had to give Lorelei that chance to choose where she wanted to stay, to cement a new life in Vesuvia with a shop and a home to call hers. He could scrape by. And Lorelei was better suited to run the shop anyway; better than he was, at least.

Instead, he dumped out the black contents of the chest – obsidian as the critical gaze that had seen him and Lorelei, and decided their fates based on a fourteen-year-old’s word _–_ and shoved his own clothes in; purple, maroon, _his_ , not Aunt Nimue’s. Asra glanced over at the window. _Time to go_.

Faust poked her head out from his collar briefly, confused by the change to routine and frequent changes of environment. A hand came up to stroke her tiny head. “We have to leave for a while. I screwed up.”

_Lori?_

Her first words through the bond, and _of course_ it would be asking about Lorelei. “This is to help her,” he promised.

Without further complaint or question, Faust settled back down inside his collar.

Winter normally made sea travel difficult, or at least more hazardous, so anywhere he wanted to go had to be over land. He would have to go to Nopal first, to offload the chest, but after that… _Nevivon it is_.

-

The taste of sea salt was fast becoming a familiar friend, as Asra directed water currents to help guide the ships to dock. With a few hryvna tossed to him for the service, he stayed on hand to heal any ill or injured sailors, refresh charms, dry out spray-soaked goods, and anything else for anyone he could haggle a few coins or a ‘sample’ out of.

“Morskoy is gonna like this,” Asra commented to Faust, bag loaded with everything from a chunk of Helcarian smoked lamb to a bottle of Kesamet wine.

 _Old man!_ she said happily through the bond, recognising the name of Asra’s landlord. Asra smiled. “Yeah. He’s an old man.”

There wasn’t much place to sit at the docks other than the ground, so Asra ate what passed for his dinner as he strolled down the length of the docks, watching out for any other potential clients. A baked potato, a sausage he traded a drying charm for, as much bread as actual meat but not bad. _I need new boots, these are getting tight – and worn_.

The rapidly-darkening sky put paid to that for the night. No common cobbler could afford to burn enough tallow or firewood to work by, and Morskoy was expecting him.

“Morskoy!” Asra called, as he ducked under the doorframe of the little hut. “I brought dinner!”

“Asra?”

Morskoy emerged from his workroom, rusted door hinges squealing as he shut the door behind him. His children except for his daughter grown and gone and his wife long dead, the old salt maker’s idea of rent for the spare room was a hundred hryvna a month, or Asra coming back with dinner every night and pitching in with odd jobs around the house. He smiled when he saw Asra.

“You should hang around more, the house is too quiet with just me in it,” Morskoy said, heading into the kitchen. “Have you eaten already?”

“I have to make a living somewhere.” Asra set his bag on the table, unpacking the wine, lamb, and a container of deruny he’d picked up on the way back.

Morskoy hummed and came back with a fork and knife. Without further conversation, Morskoy began to eat, while Asra tallied up his profits for the day across from him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner – or enough food to pass for it, at least – dinner for Morskoy, some hryvna, and a bit of sheepskin he could trade for something else tomorrow. _Not bad. Better than the beach days, at least._

“After dinner, I need a strong young man to help with the vats. These old bones aren’t what they once were, and you can’t use water to get the salt out of the bottom when you just used magic to get all the water out.” Morskoy looked irritated by this, as he finished off the last of the deruny. “Spring is here, so everyone wants salt to make their bath salts and salt to dye wool. Kostroma’s selling salt as fast as I can make it.”

As if summoned, his daughter came in then, eyes automatically scanning the room until she kicked the front door shut behind her, wards flaring to life for a brief second before settling back into the grain of the wood. Then she finally took off the bag strapped to her chest. “Another good day. The dyer’s starting another apprentice, so she wants more salt with her regular order.”

Morskoy grunted. “How much did we bring in today?”

Kostroma grinned, reached into the bag, and smacked a single gold coin onto the table. “That much.”

The old man’s face lit up in pride and pleasure. “That much? Well done, Kostroma.”

She smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgement of the praise, her eyes flicking briefly, appraisingly, over Asra before she turned to hang up her bag. Then she joined Morskoy and Asra at the table, and the moment was forgotten.

It didn’t seem to matter much later, sitting with the Magician in his realm as he spun light and dust into deceiving sight and false touch, and then then took it apart to show Asra how it was done. Illusions were something he’d never had much reason or opportunity to try before this, or someone to guide him in either, but now, his body secure behind the warded door of his room and his spirit in the Magician’s realm...

On a whim, he changed his clothes to something resembling what the younger merchants and professionals wore, better-made, more decorative than he could mentally justify to himself. Purple and maroon robes, embroidered in blue, golden buttons clasping the front together. For a second, he stared at the sight of himself in the mirror, better-looking, better-dressed than he had ever been in the physical world.

“Focus,” the Magician said, snapping his mind back to the present. Asra hastily changed his hair back to its usual white. The Magician hummed in approval. “Good. Let’s see you imitate me.”

Asra was halfway through shifting the light around his face to make him look like a fox when Faust’s alarmed hiss echoed through their bond. _Come back!_

Fearing for Faust, Asra made his excuses and all but threw himself back into his body, sitting up in a panic and willing a mage light into existence…

Only to find Kostroma staring at him from the foot of his bed, wide-eyed, pale hair tumbling loose around her shoulders and dressing gown left open to reveal a glimpse of cleavage and flat stomach.

Faust slithered into his lap. _Disturb!_ she complained, squeezing his wrist.

“K-Kostroma,” Asra finally managed, forcing his gaze back up to her face. _How the hell did she get in?_ An instant later the answer came to him: _Of course she could get in, Morskoy probably taught us the same wards._ He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? Does Morskoy need help?”

That seemed to jolt her, and her cheeks pinked. “No, no. I was wondering – it’s a cold night. Do you want to share a bed?”

Any idiot could read the implication. Asra briefly considered it. She was pretty, a few years older than him, and he was feeling lonely… but he knew better than to consider it a decent solution. “I’m fine,” he said instead.

Irritation flashed briefly across her face, and she scooted forward on the bed, closer to him. One hand ran up the outline of his leg through the blanket. Asra, uneasy, shifted back in the bed, in the guise of sitting up straighter. “But it’s _cold_. We could warm each other up.”

“Go lay by the fire, then, or ask Morskoy,” he suggested bluntly, mentally dredging up every single potentially useful spell he could think of. “I’ll do some heating charms if you want.”

At this, she finally seemed to get the message, visibly disgruntled as she nodded. Her hand didn’t leave his leg. “I’ll go – lay by the fire, then,” she said grudgingly, standing up to leave. “Goodnight, Asra.”

“Night.” The calm held only as long as it took her to close the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, he raced back to the Magician’s realm and begged him to teach him every potentially useful spell Asra could physically do.

Morskoy woke the next morning to find his tenant and his familiar gone, a few hryvna on his bed the only sign that he’d ever been there at all.

-

Milova was – huge, as it turned out. Massive, really. He’d thought Prakra was big, stunned by the expanses of sand and city after city after having spent most of his life in Vesuvia, but Milova dwarfed it easily. Asra gaped like a child leaving their home village for the first time as he laid eyes on the Eastern Expanse province for the first time, endless, twisting streets and alleyways winding away from the ports, coast stretching as far as he could see, perched on the bow of the ship.

And he was looking at just one of _twenty-one_ cities in the province. He knew from Lorelei that Milova was made up of twenty-three provinces; her father governed –

 _I wonder if I might meet her family while I’m here_. A second later he dismissed the thought. The Eastern Expanse province was enormous; its capital city alone was easily the size of Vesuvia.

It was only then that it finally hit him. He was in _Milova_ ; what’s more, in the province _Lorelei’s dad governed_ and where Lorelei and Aunt Nimue and half of Aunt Nimue’s friends had come from. He was finally seeing the motherland they had talked about.

 _Warm!_ Faust’s tiny voice chirped through the bond. It was the beginning of summer by now, _just a while until the Masquerade and Lori’s birthday_ , part of him reminded. She and Aunt Nimue would be preparing for the Masquerade by now, if things had gone as he hoped. He knew the usual procedure, the same for any other city-wide holiday or celebration – more willow bark, more contraceptive potions and hangover potions, ready to go in clay bottles for an extra price or ladled from the pots beneath the counter.

 _Wonder how much the innkeeper will order this year. I’m going to be spending the whole da-_ no. That wasn’t his concern now. It was left behind in Vesuvia, along with the black work clothes he had worn for most of his life as Aunt Nimue’s apprentice.

He forced his thoughts to Milova, the things he could see and learn here. From Lorelei and Aunt Nimue, he had learned the textile and potion magic Milovan women were taught, all small-scale and centred around what could be produced and useful in a home. Neither had learned what Milova had deemed men’s magic, spells to teleport, to create fog, to ward a door against intruders.

Part of him felt some unease at the recollection, but then the ship finally docked, the gangway lowered. Asra stepped off the ship, taking a deep breath of sea air as he looked around his new home for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just base Nevivon off Ukraine and rip off Slavic deity names indiscriminately because I hate coming up with my own? Abso-bloody-lutely.
> 
> This chapter fought like nothing on earth, RIP.


	11. The Other Side

“Muri! Muriel, over here!” The hulking man looked up sharply at Lorelei’s call, eyes widening as he spotted her by the gate.

“That your girlfriend? The magician’s niece?” one of the other gladiators teased, nudging Muriel. Muriel didn’t respond, quickly picking his way through the crowd to get to her.

“What are you doing here?” Muriel demanded, seeing Lorelei alone, just holding a small bag.

“I wanted to see you. I – I needed to get out of the shop for a while; I thought I might visit you in you and Asra’s hut.” She bit her lip, eyes darting away, visibly uneasy. “Aunt Nimue’s being… Aunt Nimue. She isn’t happy that Asra left.”

Muriel sighed, torn between sympathy and wanting to tell her to get lost and leave him be. _It won’t be hard, she won’t try walking to the hut alone._ In the end, sympathy won out. “Fine.”

The smile she offered almost made it a little less painful.

They began walking back to the hut. It wasn’t until he heard Lorelei’s “Muri, wait up!” that he realised he had unintentionally left her behind, her dark head of hair and Fung’s blue something like a dozen paces behind him. Head and shoulders shorter than him and with bound feet to boot, she had never been able to keep up with his pace, and he’d forgotten to slow down to accommodate that.

It was an uncomfortable eternity before she reached him, out of breath and damn near falling against him. Wanting to move again but able to tell that if he did, Lorelei probably wouldn’t be able to keep up – again – he had no choice but to wait for her for now.

Wordless, Lorelei reached up towards him, and realising what she wanted, Muriel let her, arm half-curling across himself. _Is this alright? I’ll have to walk slowly again unless I want her to fall over._ The thought of spending any longer than strictly necessary in the city proper was unpleasant. But there wasn’t anything he could reasonably do about it.

It was – nice, the feeling of her hand tucked in his arm, but as always, part of him squirmed uncomfortably, guiltily at it, at taking pleasure in human contact. Lorelei knew he was a gladiator in the heel role, but he had asked her never to come watch him, and she had acquiesced. He’d never felt the need to speak of it either, and so her blissful ignorance continued. _I’ve killed too many, I shouldn’t get to have this, it isn’t right. I’ve ended too many lives to be allowed to enjoy mine._

Lorelei didn’t notice, or maybe she was just too focused on trying to keep up with him, walking as fast as she was able to. It was only when he slowed his steps to what he mentally termed ‘Lori speed’ that she could walk at what seemed like a comfortable pace for her.

It took much longer than normal to reach the hut as a result, Muriel’s patience slowly fraying between the combined stresses of that day’s execution, guilt, and the long exposure in the city proper, but knowing that Lorelei couldn’t help it.

“Any news from Milova?” he asked abruptly, trying to distract himself from feeling every eye on him, the executioner. He knew Lorelei had been writing to the motherland to try to negotiate both for her stay, and for the exact details of it. Her current argument was that her filial duty to her family could be served by having her remain in Vesuvia to look after her aged, maiden Aunt Nimue, who had after all sacrificed so much to help give her mother a dowry and her uncle the opportunity to study. Aunt Nimue’s own say in this would be minimal.

Lorelei visibly started, surprised at him actually initiating conversation for once. It took a moment for her to process his question. “My father says that if I intend to stay in Vesuvia, he is thinking of giving my dowry to my younger sister.”

Muriel frowned. “But doesn’t that mean you can’t marry?”

“As a wife, I can’t. As a concubine,” she trailed off. “I’d bring no dowry, but I’d receive even less legal protection than a wife, so that will never happen.”

Part of Muriel couldn’t resist a shudder at the thought. He was huge, strong, and used to a hard life, and that was some protection in itself. If it weren’t for Asra, _and Lori,_ part of him acknowledged begrudgingly, there would be nothing stopping him from disappearing entirely. But for someone like Lorelei – small, sheltered, and partially disabled, even with her magic to aid her – she didn’t have the option of running. Law and custom was often her best protection.

Then they reached the hut, and conversation ended as Muriel went to get some firewood from the shed before rejoining her inside the hut. As was their usual routine at times like this, Muriel deposited his food on the table and knelt to arrange the firewood how he wanted it, while Lorelei waited, standing beside the hearth.

“I can do that.” Despite knowing it was coming, Muriel tensed as she hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder, but allowed the touch as a necessity for her. As casually as dropping a pair of shoes on the floor to put them on, Lorelei crouched and let a fist-sized ball of flame fall onto one of the logs Muriel had gathered. It caught instantly, and with a mumbled “Thanks,” Muriel moved away from the fireplace.

“No problem.” Slowly, she retreated back to the table and stools, leaving him blissfully – if only in illusion – alone and at peace.

He found, again to his surprise, that he didn’t really mind her presence as he hung up his axe, then sat down and ate, Lorelei calm and unobtrusive as she pulled a project from her bag and continued working on it across from him. Beside her, Fung preened, silent as always. She left him silence, and he left her space.

The project was some kind of embroidery. He’d never paid too much attention to symbols and such, so he couldn’t tell what it was, other than that the black cloth definitely wasn’t the baby clothes she had been eyeballs-deep in for the last few months, much to his relief.

“It’s a tablecloth for the shop,” Lorelei explained unprompted, not looking up from her work. Blue silk thread all but drowned in the black cotton, only shining sapphire-bright where the light from the fire reflected on it. “Prosperity, accuracy, calm.”

_A peace offering to Aunt Nimue._

For a while, it was peaceful, domestic – almost painfully so. The scrape-drag of thread through cloth, a fire in the hearth, food on the table, he and Lorelei sitting comfortably, silently at the same table as Muriel ate and Lorelei worked on her own project.

Nice. And not something he could ever really see for himself, even now with it right in front of him. Executioners didn’t have warm homes and loved ones waiting by the fire. This was just an illusion, a taunting peek at what he could have had.

There was only the scrape-drag of thread through cloth as Muriel ate, and tried – and failed – to keep his mind from lingering on the execution that afternoon, the main reason he had been able to leave the Coliseum so early. A petty-thief-turned-murderer due to a house robbery gone wrong, another one from the increasingly run-down Shopping District. Lucio, back in Vesuvia again, had orders for him to drag it out, to make an example of him.

Muriel could still hear the man’s pleas for mercy, gurgled out through the blood in his mouth and filling his throat, and weaker, weaker, as Muriel painfully silenced them. In his mind, it shifted to those of the previous man he executed, and then the ones before, all mingling into a hellish choir.

_Murderer, murderer, mur-_

“-i? Muri.”

Muriel blinked. His plate was empty. Lorelei was folding up her project and tucking it into her bag, bending down so Fung could make her awkward half-hop, half-flight to her shoulder. “I have to go. Aunt Nimue’ll want me back by sundown.”

Glancing outside, she didn’t have more than an hour to get back to the shop. Doable if she rushed, if uncomfortable. _And with the forest how it is, thanks to the neglect of our great Count Lucio..._ “It’s not safe. I’ll walk you back.”

Lorelei didn’t look surprised at his offer, though her lips thinned briefly in – embarrassment? discomfort? – at the thought. _Of course she wouldn’t want to be escorted back by you, murderermurderermurder-_

“Thank you.”

Muriel blinked, finding Lorelei already standing, basket in hand and looking at him expectantly. Fung let out a little grunt and flapped her wings impatiently. “Let’s go.”

The walk back was thankfully silent. The eyes, the whispers of everyone else was cold, clammy hands on his skin, crawling over him, dragging a knife edge down his spine.

_What’s she doing with him?_

_I’ve seen him lurking outside the shop._

_Think she’s alright?_

_Nimue’ll sort him._

Beside him, Lorelei’s jaw tightened. Fung fluffed herself up, straightening. The silence between them grew taut.

Finally the shop was in sight. Lorelei stumbled when Muriel unconsciously sped up, the sharp, sudden clack of her wood-soled shoes drawing even more, disapproving eyes to them – the executioner and the old magician’s pretty young niece.

“Sorry.” Lorelei shook her head. “It’s fine.”

They parted in silence. Muriel thought that could be the end of it.

“Don’t tell me you’re not getting married because of him.”

Silence.

Separated by a wall, both of them walked away.

-

baba:

 _How is your health and_ mama’s?

_I write to you with troubling news. The other apprentice that my yihma has taken on, Asra, has taken his things and disappeared. We do not believe that he will return. His friends have not heard from him and did not see him leave, and he has left behind only his work clothes._

yihma _is old, and childless. She does not have great wealth to sustain her or servants to care for her, and now she is without an heir, despite all she has done for my_ mama _and my_ kaufu _the Director of the Granaries Bureau. And I am only one of many daughters. Out of compassion to your sister-in-law, my_ yihma _, I ask that you allow me to remain permanently in Vesuvia to care for her in her old age and allow me to be filial in this way._

 _I am not the eldest daughter, or the only witch. Sixth Sister is a witch as well, and will be of age soon. Sparing me would be of little consequence to the family, but will aid_ yihma _greatly._

_I am relieved to hear that Second Sister-in-law has delivered safely to a healthy son. I wish her and Second Brother all the best, as well as my newest nephew._

_How are Fifth Brother’s preparations for the military examinations? I have not heard from him recently, and the examinations are stressful. Fourth Brother has said that he spends the entire day in his room._

_Wishing you good health._

_Lorelei_

_-_

_Third Sister:_

_It has been many years since we have seen each other. How have you and your children been?_

_You know that I’ve spent the last two years apprenticing to_ yihma _in Vesuvia, and she took on another apprentice, Asra, who she wanted to succeed her. I might not have mentioned that this is because of a fortune-telling he did about a month into his apprenticeship, saying something to the effect that he would succeed in his projects and I would lead a comfortable life._

_A week ago, he revealed to me that he had not fully explained the meaning of his reading. His reading was meant only for the immediate future, and had been fulfilled within a year of the reading. And then he took his bag, his familiar, explained his mistake to yihma and said that I should inherit instead, and vanished. His best friend, Muriel, has no idea where he is._

yihma _is childless, and she has done so much for_ mama _and_ kaufu. kaufu _only has two living children, a boy and a girl, and Igraine is frail and has no magic. Her own family cannot care for her, and though we aren’t part of the same family, we share the same blood. Wouldn’t it make sense for me to stay here in Vesuvia and care for her, since I’ve already spent two years here? I didn’t say this, but honestly, as far as_ baba _is concerned, giving up one of six daughters and gaining the favour of Lord Guivret, Director of the Granaries Bureau, would probably be a good deal anyway._

_Also, so you might better understand why I want to stay in Vesuvia: Under Vesuvian law, I am equal to a son, a man. I can inherit, hold property, go outside to work – there are no imperial examinations, but I was never cut out for those, not like you are._

_Please,_ baba _has always indulged you, especially after what happened to Second Sister and your own success in the imperial examinations. He will listen to you if you plead my case, but he will not listen to me otherwise._

_How have your studies been, by the way? And little Caelia? The last I heard from you, she was just starting to sit up and look around, and you thought she might show signs of magic. Has she? I can’t promise anything just yet, but when she gets older, and if I’m still in Vesuvia, I might be able to take her on as an apprentice myself, as well as Second Brother’s children, if they show signs of magic._

_It’s good here, Third Sister. You would like it here. You would face little opposition if you decided to enter the civil service as well._

_May all go smoothly for you._

_Lorelei_

_-_

_Lorelei:_

_It has been a long time since we last saw each other. I hope you are well._

~~_You said in your last letter that you wished to stay in Vesuvia permanently, out of filial piety to your_ yihma _. While I admire your loyalty to your_ yihma _, and I agree that your_ yihma _should not be left alone in her old age, she is not part of our family, and it is not our responsibility to care for her. In addition, you will yourself marry away from her eventually, and in the end she will still not have anyone to care for her._~~

~~_I hope you have not been distracted from your dowry work. You will be able to marry well when you return, and you must bring a suitable dowry for a witch. Your apprenticeship to your_ yihma _has only added to your prestige, and there is talk of some families offering more as your bride price due to this._~~

_You said in your last letter that you wished to stay in Vesuvia permanently, out of filial piety to your_ yihma. _Interestingly, your Third Sister has seconded it. She suggests that while your_ yihma _is not part of our family, she is still the elder sister of Lord Guivret, and showing kindness to his family can only be to our benefit. In addition, as Vesuvia treats women as essentially equal to men, you marrying out will not be a concern._

_However, it raises the question of what will become of your dowry, as you evidently will not use it soon. You are fortunate that we have not gone beyond enquiries with the fortune teller. Sixth Sister may be married in the next few years, and the addition of your dowry would benefit her. If you are serious about moving permanently to Vesuvia, return your dowry with the next letter._

_Do not do this on a whim._

_Lord Artos, doutui of Eastern Expanse province._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see!
> 
> For once, something other than Asra's POV, and a little glimpse into the minds and relationships of Muriel and Lorelei. 
> 
> Come bug me over on asrafucker69 on Tumblr. Also, Sunday Cat from The Arcana Facebook group just did the most beautiful art of Lorelei that I'll be posting soon.


	12. Milova

“Drop dead, jackass!” Asra shouted across the street at the retired army magician-turned-pensioner, no real heat in it.

Tellus shouted something back to the effect of ‘ignorant demon-looking magicians’. Still, sundown would see Asra heading to Tellus' home for lessons, the 'witches' work' potions Tellus didn't know how to produce himself his payment for Tellus' lessons in 'magicians' work'.

Asra snorted and hauled his carrying pole back onto his shoulder, potions in the back basket, charms, Faust, and water in the front. It was time to make his rounds of the houses anyway.

“Potions! Magic and potions! Magic and potions for sale!” Above him, he could see a few women and girls peeking out from their second-floor windows, their faces shadows behind the fine latticework screens. This was one of the better neighbourhoods, the households of scholars and officials and their descendants; good for getting hard cash.

“Magic-seller!” Loegaire raced out of his household’s compound, waving a string of coins and holding a basket of clay bottles. Asra cracked a smile at the sight of him, turning his carrying pole before setting it down so both baskets were in front of him. “Morning. What do you want?”

“Lord Lau wants a fertility potion for his concubine,” Loegaire answered. He handed over one of the bottles and reached into the basket until he found a box, opening it so Faust could see inside. Faust’s delight told Asra everything he needed to know about its contents, even as he stooped to rummage around his own basket. “And another meal for your snake.”

The bottles never remained organised for long in his basket, and it took a moment for Asra to find the right one to pour into Loegaire’s bottle. “How old is the mistress? Her height and weight?”

As Loegaire obligingly reeled off the relevant information, he considered how he had never actually _seen_ Lord Bedwyr Lau. He knew he was the local prefect, one of many who reported to Lord Artos Lau, but nothing else about him, despite him being one of his regular customers. Even the surname he shared with Lorelei’s dad didn’t really say much about him; like most common surnames, so many people had it that he could throw a stone in a crowd and hit someone with that name.

“One soup spoon of this, twice a day, every day except for during her period. Stop as soon as she even thinks she’s pregnant. If she’s mistaken, she can simply start it again without consequence. It tends to increase the odds of having multiple babies, so be on the lookout for that. Five _faai_ for a week’s supply. It doesn’t keep longer than ten days, so you’ll have to buy more in a week.” Loegaire counted out the coins, nodding as Asra put his bottle in the basket for him. “Is that all?”

It was, but all the same, Asra’s basket was considerably lighter by the time he left the neighbourhood behind. _That’s rent mostly settled._ He wandered over to the more working-class neighbourhoods, the households of labourers, food hawkers, and so on. _Let’s see if I can get lunch._

-

“Asra!” Loegaire was waving him down two months later. Lady Lau had apparently drank the potion religiously for a month, following his instructions to the letter. For all that it was good money, Asra was sincerely looking forward to not having to start brewing more again. That potion stank worse than fish left out overnight. “Good news! The mistress has conceived!”

Asra sighed, relieved. “Good to hear. That potion is a nightmare to brew. Anything else?”

“My lord also wishes for you to join him at dinner tonight.” Asra’s brows shot towards his hairline. Loegaire only shook his head. “He wants to meet the magician responsible for helping his concubine conceive. I asked him how he knows you are not a witch, but he didn’t answer.”

“Yeah. I’ll be here, then,” he said easily, ignoring his unease at the use of the two words. A casual slur for women, and a statement of fact for men. Milovan society was like that, he knew, but it didn’t make it any easier to see – or wonder how he hadn’t noticed in three years living with Lorelei and Aunt Nimue.

Loegaire waved him off to get to his other customers, and by the time he’d made his rounds, he barely had enough time to find somewhere private to at least wipe the sweat off himself before heading back to Lord Lau’s.

For all that he’d passed by Lord Lau’s home plenty of times, he’d never seen inside it. He knew from Lorelei how an important family’s mansion in the northern provinces was often laid out, facing north for the warm winds with a central door for the important individuals – male heads of the household, magic-users, important guests, and the mothers of sons or witches – and side doors for everyone else.

All the doors were guarded, against evil spirits by stone lions and against more material threats by paid guards; in her home the guards changed every two months, to ensure they couldn’t be bribed.

Lorelei had sketched it out for him, once, during a long winter evening with little else to do. The important people, like her and her parents, stepped in through the central door only to be immediately met by the intricate carvings, wooden doors and walls with gold calligraphy and mother-of-pearl gleaming in the light. To the left of the entrance hall was a parlour for her father and the male members of her family to receive guests, to the right was a dining room.

Everyone else got a decorated, but relatively plain and dimly-lit side room which led to a small garden and then stairs to the second floor behind it, or perhaps a narrow corridor with the main building on one side and the kitchen, servants’ quarters, and lavatory on the other.

From the entrance hall, carved oak pillars delineated the courtyard, tiled with huge stone slabs and sheltered from the sun on four sides by the surrounding building. Side rooms for sons and their wives, concubines and children flanked the main courtyard. The main building at the back housed the family’s ancestral shrines in the centre, her parents’ rooms to either side and a study attached to her father’s room.

Between the courtyard and the main building were stairs. Like the ones from the smaller courtyard, they led up to the women’s quarters – a women’s parlour with windows covered by wood screens carved as fine as lace and imported glass shutters, and rooms for her father’s concubine and the unmarried daughters and young sons of the family.

Everyone had their place, from the lowest servant to the head of the household. Asra knew that he was a nobody here, a common magician with a bit of training. Just a more rare tradesman invited to dinner with a regular customer.

Which was why, when Loegaire ushered him in through the central door rather than the side doors, Asra had a brief moment of confusion followed by frantically recalling everything Lorelei had ever said about Milovan high society and if there was any special significance to anything he had sold to the Laus or any interactions with their servants. It was all women’s magic, certainly – what he had learned under Aunt Nimue’s tutelage. Rarely seen outside households fortunate enough to marry in a trained witch. Was that it?

He didn’t have time to consider it, his carrying pole and baskets taken off him by another servant and laid to one side in the entrance hall before Loegaire led him into the dining room. Faust barely slithered out of the basket and up his arm in time to avoid being separated.

Two women and a handful of girls, well-dressed in bright cotton jackets and skirts, sat along the sides of a long, rosewood table. It was set for dinner, easily a dozen dishes half-hidden under a fly cover. A steaming porcelain teapot stood beside it. Bowls of rice, porcelain teacups and spoons and ivory chopsticks were at each place setting, impeccably neat and shining.

Most of the older girls and two women wore long nail guards in silver and enamel, glittering in the fading light with their earrings and the pins in the elaborately styled hair of the women. Asra self-consciously straightened the faded maroon jacket that had seen better days and slightly too short trousers, not too dissimilar from what Loegaire and the other servants were wearing.

There were three seats empty, the head of the table and the two seats on either side of it. Loegaire led him to one of them, giving a shallow bow to the women and girls that Asra copied. “Lady Lau, Madam Lang, this is Mister Alnazar, the magic-seller, and Lord Lau’s guest.”

The women and girls nodded briefly in greeting. “Good evening, Mister Alnazar.”

“Please, sit,” the oldest woman added, and Asra knew enough to guess that she was probably Lady Lau, and obey.

Loegaire disappeared, possibly to find Lord Lau himself and whoever the other missing person was. The younger woman didn’t bother much about him, glancing at him briefly before turning to speak to her daughter, a teenager with her hair still braided. Lady Lau, evidently quite secure in her status, eyed him and Faust blatantly, gaze flicking from his white hair, to his purple eyes, then his worn clothes and finally to Faust. She wasn’t much impressed, evidently.

One of the gap-toothed little girls stared at Faust, utterly fascinated by Faust’s purple scales and her flicking tongue. Her chin barely even cleared the top of the rice bowl set in front of her. “Mister, can I pet the snake?”

“Sebile,” the younger woman scolded. “The snake might bite you.”

“Faust doesn’t bite, she’s very smart,” Asra tried to reassure her, but all it got him was a long-suffering look as Sebile started begging her mother to be allowed to pet Faust.

“Finally, I get to meet Asra!” Seeing the women and girls immediately stand, looking at something beside him, Asra stood automatically as well, turning to the source of the voice.

A man the same age as the older woman walked up the head of the table, dressed relatively casually in an ankle-length, deep green cotton robe appropriate for the summer heat and a soft, plain black head wrap. He looked vaguely familiar, though Asra couldn’t place where he’d seen him.

 Even now, though, enamelled nail guards on his left hand glittered in the fading light, protecting the long nails that showed he was too important to do manual labour. _That has to be Lord Lau._ “Good evening, Lord Lau-”

Half a step behind him was another woman in her thirties, dark hair coiled up with silver pins and lapis lazuli in her ears. “-and ma’am.”

“Good evening, father.” Two of the girls added on “Mother,” but none else.

“Good evening, husband, younger sister.” That came from both the women, easily a decade apart in age. _And Lord Lau’s concubine._

Lord Lau smiled at him, nodding briefly in greeting. “Asra, it’s good to meet you. Sit down!”

Lord Lau sat himself, gesturing for a servant to remove the fly cover while everyone else took their own seats. The girl couldn’t have been older than the oldest girl at the table, fifteen at most, her skin tanned from a life outdoors where the Laus were as pale as their ivory chopsticks.

“Lord Lau, thank you for inviting me to dine with you,” Asra began, as Lord Lau began eating. The women and girls only took from the dishes after he had, and even then Asra noticed that Lady Lau got first pick after Lord Lau himself before the others even thought of helping themselves. He followed the cue of the younger women and girls, eating only after the oldest at the table had.

Lord Lau smiled. “It’s nothing. Tell me, how old are you?”

One of his daughters stood to pour tea from him, gesturing for Asra to pass his cup to her so she could do the same for him. Asra absent-mindedly obliged. “Sixteen. Seventeen in winter.”

Lord Lau’s smile widened. “Then are you from Vesuvia?”

 _How the hell did he know that?_ He took a drink of the - delicious - tea and nodded slowly, part of him remembering exactly where he’d last seen that straight, relatively high nose and full lips. Lorelei’s mouth was smaller, her eyes a different shape, but –

_She always calls her siblings as Second Brother and Third Sister. I don’t think I’ve ever heard their names._

_First Brother is a_ prefect in fucking Eastern Expanse Province. _Asra, you idiot_.

“How was my fifth sister, Lorelei, last you saw her?” Seeing the comprehension on Asra’s face, _Lori’s oldest brother_ snorted. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise your name and that snake? My mother and sixth sister wrote to me just to laugh about how Lorelei couldn’t hide her infatuation an entire _month_ of travel away, even as she complained that she was stuck in the shop while you went gallivanting across half the known world.”

Asra flushed, first at the realisation that Lord Bedwyr Lau had probably known exactly who he was for months, and then at the casual mention that apparently _Lori had a crush on him_ , because how the hell had he missed that?

The only reasonable explanation was that he barely saw her for months at a stretch, and then when he came back he’d been too distracted by work and working out her strange moods when it came to him –

Oh.

Lord Lau laughed outright, realising what his expression meant. “Don’t tell me you _didn’t know_? I was a married man with a daughter of my own when she was born and even _I_ knew, if only through our younger sister.”

Asra shook his head, mortified.

His host set down his chopsticks to bury his face in his hand. “The way my third sister tells it, you gave up an entire business for her sake, and you didn’t even know she – I’m not sure who is the greater fool, you or her. _Neither_ of you would pass the imperial exams.”

Beside him, one of the girls giggled, and Madam Lang’s lips pressed into a thin line to keep herself from laughing.

Lord Lau shook his head and picked up his chopsticks again. “I will write to tell Lorelei that you were here. I advise you not to return for now; the last I heard from her, our _yihma_ , Nimue, was still angry with you.”

Asra could only nod, getting back to eating with flushed cheeks and far too many things to consider.

Lord Lau sent him off with a standing invitation to join him for dinner. He enjoyed meeting the person that had sparked the latest bit of entertainment and drama in the family, he claimed, and wanted to get to know the man who his _yihma_  practically adopted for her own.

All Asra knew for sure was that perhaps it was time to move on from the Eastern Expanse Province –

\- or maybe find another master to teach him,  _preferably the next prefecture over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Asra is half seriously considering skipping town entirely /just/ because of Lorelei's oldest brother. Bedwyr Lau, for his part, is enjoying this far too much.
> 
> The layout of Lorelei’s and Bedwyr’s homes should be taken with a grain of salt. It’s based on the evocatively vague layout of Tai Fu Tai Mansion (a Hong Kong mansion that once belonged to a scholar-official) that I could get hold of, knowledge that Imperial Chinese homes in the southern provinces often had two stories and multiple entrances, and whatever bits of information on siheyuan (the stereotypical four-building traditional Chinese home) that I could find. 
> 
> tl;dr like much of the worldbuilding, it’s as much actual irl fact as me bullshitting and trying to adapt to the (imaginary) context to fill in the gaps.


	13. Milova, pt 2

Asra got the breath knocked out of him as soon as he stepped into the house, arms automatically cradling the little, dark head that rammed into his stomach. “Faust! _suksuk_ Asra!”

“Hey Sebile,” he managed weakly. Faust blepped next to his ear, secure around his shoulders and neck. Amusement and curiosity filtered through the bond. _Baby!_

Sebile grinned up at him and Faust. He wasn’t entirely sure when he had become _suksuk_ Asra rather than Mister Alnazar, but he wasn’t complaining. Well, not much. While he understood the rationale – he was considered Lorelei’s peer, and thus from the generation above Sebile – he really wasn’t mentally ready for a five-year-old to call him ‘uncle’.

Even if she was absolutely adorable.

“Faust!” To his utter lack of surprise at this point, Sebile was already reaching up for Faust with small, soft hands. Behind Sebile, her nanny followed at a more sedate pace. “Good morning, Mister Alnazar. Madam Wang and the young master are waiting for you upstairs.”

“In a moment,” he promised. Faust was making her way down Asra’s arm to Sebile, tongue flicking out curiously. Sebile held out both her arms and held still, well-practiced in the ways of handling Faust by now. She still giggled as Faust twined around her arms and flicked her tongue at her cheek.

 _Warm_ , Faust said approvingly, settling around Sebile’s shoulders and arms as they made their way up to the women’s parlour. Even with her lumpy, knitted sweater made from enchanted warming yarn, early spring in Milova wasn’t exactly comfortable for her, and certainly not the unheated entrance hall of Lord Lau’s home.

Around them, the house was a hive of activity, servants rushing around with buckets of rice, cooked and uncooked, dyed eggs, and a few with steaming basins of scented water to bring upstairs. No doubt, in the family’s private rooms, the women and girls were similarly busy.

The warmth of the women’s parlour hit like a smack to the face as he entered, trailing after Sebile and her nanny.

“Madam Wang,” Asra greeted, with a slight bow. His former client – one of many, since Lord Lau had spread word around – smiled at him. “Mister Alnazar.”

The reasons for the noticeably friendlier greeting and the bustle downstairs was sleeping in her arms, wrapped in layers of cotton and gold enchanted silk that looked vaguely familiar. “How is the young mas- miss today?”

“The girl is well.” Even with Asra around and enchanted clothes available, the Laus didn’t dare risk attracting the attention of jealous spirits by praising the health of their only son – at least not around the baby himself. Instead, it was never mentioned except when absolutely necessary, and the boy was referred to as a girl for now, a small blessing but not worth getting jealous over.

Sebile wandered over to her baby brother, round and pink as the pig zodiac he’d been born under. Faust tasted the air around the baby, and Madam Wang let her, trusting her implicitly as an extension of Asra. _Healthy baby! Lorelei?_ Faust asked.

Asra smiled. _Probably mistook their magical signatures._ It wasn’t uncommon for family members to have similar magical auras; there was a decent chance that Lorelei and her nephew – gods it was weird to think of the baby as Lorelei’s nephew – had similar enough auras to confuse Faust. He held his arms out for the baby. “May I?”

The baby was heavy and warm as he was settled in his arms, thankfully remaining asleep. Only – Asra frowned. That was definitely Lorelei’s magical aura; he’d lived with her for three years, he would know. “I…”

One tiny arm struggled against the swaddling as the baby turned into Asra’s satin jacket, dragging an embroidered blue motif into view. Instantly, he realised. _“Oh.”_

“Is something wrong?” Madam Wang asked, anxious, and Asra shook himself out of his thoughts. “Nothing. Who enchanted these clothes?”

“My fifth sister-in-law. This was originally part of her dowry.” _Lorelei’s dowry? Then what the hell is it doing here?_ Madam Wang must’ve seen his confusion. “My father-in-law required her to give up her dowry if she was to stay in Vesuvia. Part of it went to my sixth sister-in-law, but others…”

 _Swaddling enchanted for protection, for health, for growth would be priceless to a forty-year-old Milovan man with his first and only living son, and if it’s her own brother... But-_ Asra frowned. “But she can’t marry without a dowry. Not as a wife, at least.”

And if she’d been antsy about marrying as a wife, he knew that it would probably be absolutely nothing compared to the prospect of marrying as a concubine. Her husband would have to have a much higher status, if not be outright nobility for his family to even dare approach hers, but it wouldn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t be her children’s legal mother, could not remarry, and could never see her family again.

Madam Wang shrugged, careless about a sister-in-law she had never met and whose fate she couldn’t influence. “Maybe the shop was to be her dowry. The value might be equivalent, an entire shop rather than a chest of enchanted goods.”

He couldn’t deny that it made a horrible sort of sense, and then Loegaire came up to inform them that if Mister Alnazar was done checking on the young master, Mister Alnazar should make his way down to the dining room. Sebile was already being herded off by her nanny to join her sisters and get dressed, and no, Faust could not come along, she was a magician’s familiar and it was improper.

“But she’s a girl snake!” Sebile protested, nevertheless allowing Faust to slip from around her shoulders and rejoin Asra. “And he’s _ngguzoeng!”_

In seventeen years of life, Asra had never wanted to die more than at that moment. He might not have heard that exact term, but with Sebile calling Lorelei her Fifth Aunt or _nggu_ , Fifth Aunt’s husband or _ngguzoeng_ was easy enough to work out. Madam Wang giggled and Sebile’s nanny just laughed outright. “No, he’s _suksuk_. Who told you he’s _ngguzoeng_?” she asked, picking the girl up.

Sebile stuck out her chin defiantly from her position on her nanny’s hip, absolutely sure as all little girls are that she was right. “He’s _ngguzoeng_! Or soon!”

“Your _ngguzoeng_ needs to go downstairs, and you need to go get dressed,” Madam Wang said, sparing Asra further mortification. Sebile and her nanny left, Sebile still insisting that she was absolutely right and Asra was _ngguzoeng_ , her nanny agreeing indulgently.

Asra took the opportunity to follow a carefully straight-faced Loegaire downstairs to the dining room. Various relatives were being welcomed by Lady Lau in the entrance hall as he walked past, Lady Lau smiling graciously as she accepted congratulations on behalf of her husband and for her new son. Legally, he was hers; Madam Wang didn’t matter.

“Mister Alnazar.” Loegaire was gesturing for him to join the rest of the relatives in the dining room. Asra wondered when he’d gone from _magic-seller_ and _Asra_ to _Mister Alnazar,_ and when he became seen as fit to join the Laus, rather than dealing exclusively with their servants.

As he glanced at himself in a hallway mirror – expensive, with its size – for a moment, he could have passed for a rich trader in his new satins, from somewhere faraway, who would eventually go home to his comfortable home. For a moment, he could have been someone with something anchoring him to one place, something to show that he had lived and died and not just memories.

And then he stepped into the dining room, and the moment passed.

The Laus milled around the dining room and moved between the tables, catching up with relatives they were usually too busy to see in person. None of them cast a second glance his way other than the handful of younger children, too well-bred and too used to following Lord Bedwyr Lau’s cue to openly question Asra’s presence. Although…

One of the girls at the other tables sat with her back to him as she spoke to an older woman holding a baby – her mother, he guessed – her hair coiled up with gold and jade, pale blue jacket and tiny footbinding shoes encrusted with familiar gold embroidery like an intricate cage. Then she turned to glance over in his direction, and staring at him was a girl who _should not have been there_. “Lori?!”

The girl rose to her feet with a frown, and the fog of memory dissipated as Faust coiled around his shoulders and spoke through the bond. _Not Lorelei!_

No, she wasn’t. Asra had taken a few steps closer in sheer surprise, and closer, he could see the differences. She was taller than Lorelei was, paler from a lifetime indoors. Her lips were thinner, her face rounder, adolescence yet to completely melt the fat from her cheeks.

“Are you – Asra?” the girl asked, as attention turned to them. Suddenly Asra knew who the girl facing him was. _Sixth Sister. Lori’s half-sister, and the only other witch daughter of Lord Artos’ to live past the age of five._

The next thought came with horrifying clarity. _She’s fourteen, the same age I was when I started my apprenticeship_. _Why the hell is her hair pinned up like an adult’s?_

Silent, stunned, he nodded. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across her face. “I am Felicitas. Lorelei’s sixth sister. It is good to finally meet you, Mister Alnazar.”

The older woman rose to her feet. Her smile was like a warrior’s, meeting a worthy adversary at last. “Mister Alnazar. I am Lady Maia, Lorelei’s third sister. I’m the reason your little stunt worked out so well.”

Belatedly, Asra noticed her robes – the round-necked robes of an official, the rank badge embroidered with a mandarin duck indicating that she was an official of the seventh rank. _Lori’s oldest living sister, and one of a handful of female Milovan officials._

With a firm hand and a smile altogether too knowing for his safety, Lady Maia grasped Asra’s wrist and pulled him to sit with them.

-

Asra couldn’t believe his ears. He had gone through the whole, pointless rigamarole of being shown the young master – decked out in gold trinkets and enchanted silk – almost unconsciously, followed along with the toasts and banquet and obligingly ate one of the dyed eggs as a symbol of fertility and new life.

Felicitas was occupied with her newest nephew, seated a little away with the baby cradled in her arms. Asra couldn’t tear his eyes away. Had Lorelei not written to Lady Maia and her father, had Maia not then visited their father to argue on Lorelei’s behalf, had Lady Maia not been Lord Artos Lau’s oldest living and favourite daughter, and had Lord Artos Lau not relented…

Had any of those not happened, it could have been Lorelei sitting across from him, possibly already married, and not just engaged as Felicitas was. And his impulsive flight from Vesuvia would have been for nothing.

Gods, he hadn’t seen Vesuvia, hadn’t seen Muriel or Lorelei or Aunt Nimue in over a year. He left in winter, when he was newly-sixteen. It was early spring now, and he was seventeen. _This is the longest I’ve ever been away from Vesuvia._

Beside him, Lady Maia’s daughter, Caelia, babbled at Faust and Lady Maia, eyes wide as she waved her little hands expressively. Lady Maia nodded absentmindedly, indulgent, while Faust nosed inquisitively at Caelia. _Magic?_ she asked.

That finally pulled Asra back to himself, back to where he was, and reflexively, he smiled at Caelia. Caelia grinned at him, delighted at the attention, and clapped her hands.

A tiny, purple butterfly with white spots on its wings appeared and fluttered out from between her pudgy fingers. Caelia squealed gleefully, and Asra and Lady Maia looked to each other with matching expressions of astonishment – and growing horror.

They knew what this meant. Caelia was a daughter, and she had shown talent in magic. She was no longer a worthless daughter, but now that she was too valuable to risk running off, too valuable to ever be put to work in manual labour… There was a path laid out for her, now, an official’s witch daughter. It began in pain, and ended in an official’s or nobleman’s bed.

“The sister just before me died from her footbinding, and I was married when my fifth and sixth sisters had their feet bound,” Lady Maia said. She looked down at Caelia, who was occupying herself with the colourful rank badge on her mother’s chest. “She cannot fail to marry well.”

And that was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it? For him, male-bodied, it didn’t matter who he married. He could be the maker of his own fate, but in Milova, a country a thousand times larger and wealthier than Vesuvia – there were only four female Milovan officials, and all of them daughters or nieces of high-ranking officials themselves.

“Mister Alnazar.”

Loegaire stood half a step away from him, and nodded respectfully when he had his and Lady Maia’s attention. Asra suddenly missed the days when he was just ‘magic-seller’. “Lord Lau wants to meet you in his study.”

Shelves of books and scrolls lined the walls of the room. Lord Lau himself sat at an ornate rosewood desk in the centre, facing the door. At one end of the desk was a hanging display of writing brushes like a tiny screen; a little closer at hand was an inkstone with a clearly much-used brush resting against it, instead of the actual ceramic brush rest. At the other end was a small tray with a porcelain teapot and two teacups.

As Loegaire closed the door behind him, Asra hurried to pour Lord Lau and himself a cup of tea each.

“Sit.”

Asra sat.

Lord Lau leaned back in his chair. The genial expression didn’t quite hide the way his gaze flicked over Asra, like he was a prize horse up for grabs and he was working out whether to buy it. “I never did thank you for helping me.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Asra said quickly, pulling up a smile to hide his unease. “You did get me a lot of business. And this suit.”

Lord Lau huffed, smiled. He leaned forward in his chair. “Yes, I did. Asra, you seem smart enough. A businessman,” Asra thought back to Lorelei correcting his bookkeeping, “We’ve both benefited from working with each other. So why not put down roots and stay, as my – retainer, of sorts?”

 _Stay_. “But – Lord Lau, I’ve – _why?_ ”

Asra was sure his face showed his confusion. What else could Lord Lau possibly want from him? None of the skills that he had brought to the table were extraordinary; even Felicitas would have the same, if not better training. Everything he had learned, he had learned from Aunt Nimue and Lorelei.

Lord Lau raised an eyebrow. “I can make you someone to be respected. The patronage and backing of a prefect, the eldest son of the governor of Eastern Expanse province. My word alone has half the civil service and their families clamouring for your services. You could have a house in the best neighbourhood, as many beautiful concubines and maids as you please, silks and satins on your back – if you work for me.”

“No, no,” Asra shook his head, “What’s in it for you? Lord Lau. You have Felicitas. You have a healthy son, you have what you want.”

“My sister who will soon belong to another family and who I am unlikely to ever see again after that? Asra, have you ever wondered why Milovan witches are so valuable?” Lord Lau asked. Asra frowned. “It’s because they can produce enchanted thread, and they’re the only ones taught to.”

“It is because those enchanted threads _help keep our children alive_.” Asra’s worldview shifted as Lord Lau’s genial expression melted away. Suddenly Lord Bedwyr Lau looked far older than forty, his face grim and exhausted. “Did you think my father sending Lorelei’s dowry to me was a coincidence? At forty years old, I have my first and _only_ son, an infant barely a month old. Three of my siblings and one of my daughters died before they even lost their milk teeth. My fifth brother – a man in the prime of his life and as healthy as an ox – died just in autumn due to a training accident in the army.

“The futures of my wife, concubines, and unmarried daughters rests on a single infant. Do you wonder why I would want to keep a magician trained as a witch around?”

No. Laid out like that, Asra could not dispute his logic. To him, hiring a magician, and one who was already trusted, was the answer to his problems. And the only cost was –

_I can make you someone to be respected._

_I can make you._

_If you work for me_.

“No.” The answer surprised Asra as much as it did Lord Lau. _Not like this. I will rise, but not just because of a single man._ His voice gained confidence as Asra continued, remembering.

_The lumpy yarn of Faust’s sweater._

_“I don’t weave like a six-year-old holding a shuttle for the first time in her life and insisting on working on the grown-up’s loom.”_

_Tiny, golden stitches in the light of the back window._

“No, Lord Lau. I thank you for your offer, but – I spin and weave like a six year old. I can barely sew, let alone embroider the things you want.” _And it’s time to move on_. “I am not the one you want to hire.”

“No,” Lord Lau looked resigned. “No, you are not. Thank you, Asra.”

Lord Lau picked up one of the cups. “To failed business deals and overly expensive tea.”

“To very delicious tea.” That got a smile out of Lord Lau as they downed the cups. “If you like it so much, take some before you go. I got an entire chest as a gift from some merchant coming from the Barbarian Warrior mountains, up in Building Prosperity province, and there’s too much of it. None of my girls can stand it, or their mothers.”

“Can’t dispute that,” Asra joked.

“Tell my _yihma_ that her training helped me finally have a son. She’ll want to hear it from you.” Lord Lau stood, and automatically, Asra stood with him. “I assume you’ll be on the next ship out? The way Lorelei tells it, she barely saw you for years.”

“Yeah.” He felt a slight pang at that. “I’ll be out of your hair by tonight, probably. Thank you. For everything.”

_Vuelo. Vuelo might be nice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses. I finished this at 5am in a fit of irritation.
> 
> irl lapsang souchong came from the Wuyi (lit. military + barbarian) mountains in northern Fujian (lit. prosperity + build) province.
> 
> Interesting fact: Sebile is another spelling of Sibyl, the name of the priestesses of Apollo. I grabbed a mythology-related name at random and – well, I couldn’t fail to find another opportunity to embarrass Asra.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I was extra enough to come up with a currency system, nicknames for the coins, and designs.
> 
> I haven't published anything since 2014, so - reviews, please.
> 
> Currency:
> 
> Gold coin ‘golds’, gold coins about an inch in diameter. Stamped with Count Lucio's head on both sides.  
> 1 gold coin = 100 silver coins  
> Silver coin ‘shivs’, silver coins that are larger than the gold coins. Nickname comes partially from the sound (shiv/silv), partially the knife stamped on one side, on the other side from Count Lucio's head.  
> 1 silver = 20 tin coins  
> 1 tin coin ‘thins’, made larger (and thus, proportionately thinner) to help differentiate them from the silver coins, hence the name (as well as the thin/tin homophone). Stamped with Count Lucio's head on one side and a beetle on the other.


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